Ghosts of Old
by Clez
Summary: When people return from 'the dead', are they really the same as we remember them? The League seem destined to find out when old faces reappear, welcome and despised... both helpful, and utterly wicked... -WIP-
1. Of Immortality

**Author's Note: **Okay, okay, so I have two other projects on the go... so sue me, lol! I just couldn't resist writing this. The imagery in my head was too powerful, and my Muses were jabbing my with pointed sticks, and... and... those things hurt! Long story short... temptation! I know Graymoon74 won't be complaining anyway, hehehehe, hopefully ~_^

Welcome... to _'Ghosts of Old'_...

* * *

                Wind tore mercilessly over the frozen fields of the Mongolian wastelands, lifting light snowflakes from the ground and swirling them about before letting them settle once again to join the ice below. Everything was still save for the gentle blizzard, and the eerie howl it brought with it as it ripped through the broken carcass of the building that had once been a formidable fortress. Its cracks and holes were attacked by the wind and the snow, the surfaces engulfed by the whiteness and the frost until the rooms inside the crevices could no longer be recognised as hospitable. It clung to furniture, blew tapestries from the walls, settled on the ground and ruined anything that had once been useable.

                But it was in a room to the rear of the gloomy dead building that the real spectacle was about to take place. To a casual onlooker, the most obvious thing about the room was the lack of damage it had sustained from whatever blast had wracked its form. A number of portraits had toppled from the walls, a lamp or a vase fallen to break against the carpeting, but... nothing too ghastly.

                That was, if one overlooked the rotten corpse pinned to the wall, falling apart and ashen with decay. The bones were visible through the putrefied skin, as thin as paper, and the clothes hanging from it seemed wasted. A fine, steel blade as if from a slim sheath pinned it through its chest to the wall, a killing blow if ever one had been made. No man could have survived the strike. Of course... there was no evidence as to the man's real demise.

                The wind eerily tore into the room, lifting a grey-blue bowler hat  from its lodging and blowing it across the floor where it rolled for a moment and then lay still. A curtain fluttered. The decaying corpse was disturbed by the breeze, and seemed on the verge of falling into itself with utter decomposition. That was, until it shifted slightly, and the wind tore _through _it, even from its place pinned to the wall.

                The elements wrapped around the corpse, thrashing against exposed bone, ashy flesh hanging from the skeleton, attacked hollow cavities where organs had long ago resided. It ripped at the lifeless strands of once-luscious hair, and threatened to tear it free.

                Then something truly spectacular and altogether terrifying started to happen. The crumbled remains from the floor were lifted by the somehow otherworldly wind, and returned to their place within the corpse, coating it, and the bones shuddered as if frightened. A deep rattling and a shiver trembled from within the body, and it began to twist, as if suffering. There was a sigh, like the wind was weary, and a new wave of the blizzard struck the corpse ruthlessly with the force of a hurricane.

                It was completely engulfed by the supernatural elements that ate away at it - seemingly - and a bloodcurdling shriek emanated from within the cloud of fog that had rolled in with the flakes of snow and the terrible wind. It was enough of a deathly sound to freeze the heart of any man, regardless of claims of bravery and nonchalance. It was truly horrifying.

                And then... almost as suddenly as the awesome exhibition had started... it stopped, died away and receded into the realm from whence it came. It drew back, and dissipated, leaving an odd and chilling silence hanging like a veil over the room, now truly demolished by the queer elements that had ravaged it unexpectedly.

                 But something had changed. The corpse... it was no longer decayed, rotting and near complete disintegration... not anymore. Now it looked whole again, save for the vicious blade piercing the man's chest just below the ribcage, right through to the wall behind him. The head was lowered, as if lifeless, until, with a mighty choked gasp, it shot up and back, almost slamming into the wall.

                The dark brown eyes were wide with confusion and quite possibly pain, as he took in the surroundings, and he breathed heavy, rasping breaths that shook his entire frame. His hair had returned, though... oddly enough, the shade had altered from the black of coal seen before the abnormal event. It was no longer the pitch black of a starless night... it had lightened considerably, inexplicably. The raven darkness had receded, and an oddly calming shade of chestnut brown had stolen precedence, the delicate locks playing on the man's fine brow. His facial hair was gone, lost in his resurrection perhaps, though the casual onlooker would never have known of its existence. The eyes blinked once, twice, and flew down to the sword in his chest.

                He uttered a slight whimper, and then, seeming to recall a pride he had once revelled in, stifled the sound entirely. He rose up a flawless hand, and gripped the wooden hilt, polished and smooth to the touch under his fingertips, unused for so long. He relished in the sensation for a moment, as if he had forgotten the simple pleasures, and then gripped it firmly, cruelly, taking it upon himself to do so with the other hand, and ripping at it with all the strength he could muster.

                With a crack and a sickening squelch, the blade tore free from his chest, and the weapon clattered to the floor, even as the man dropped to his knees in silent anguish. He did not cry out, did not scream or yelp... he was perfectly still in his suffering... no, there was no distress in his eyes now. It seemed it did not pain him. Touching a hand to the rip in his fine attire, where the dust flaked from where the wound _had_ been, he smiled crookedly, before it became a full on grin.

                Before long, he started to chuckle, and then broke into a heartfelt laugh of true mirth, though there was a darkness and almost a kind of sorrow to its tone as it reverberated around the walls of the room he knelt in. 

                After a moment of giving in to his apparent humour, he gathered himself to his feet, taking the blade with him, holding it gently - almost affectionately - by the hilt. He admired the blade for a moment as it shone in the wan light, turning it this way and that, and then running his finger down the sharpened edge. It sliced the skin effortlessly, but even as he watched, transfixed it seemed, the wound practically fell away as if ashamed to touch or mar his perfect skin. 

                He smiled, showing his white teeth, and sighed lightly, eyeing the apparent scabbard for the sword he seemed to be in awe of so much. He picked it up, and regarded it.

                _A cane_, the man thought, and slotted the blade away, hearing the affirming click as the sword was locked away in perfect concealment. _How useful... and extremely familiar._

                Suddenly, flashes of images tore into his subconscious, and he reeled, gripping the foot of the chair near to him for stability as he watched internally whilst two immortals were locked in an eternal battle for supremacy and justice. One a vampire, the other... a man who had exchanged his soul for eternal youth and life. A beautiful woman... a handsome man... some would say a perfect match. 

                Letting a humourless smile touch his lips, drawing them into a thin line lacking in mirth, he whispered a word, a name, "Mina..."

                He touched a hand to his own face, and then furrowed his delicate brow, before casting his eyes about for the mirror he so - vainly enough - desired all of a sudden. He found one laying on its front on the dresser, and took it in his grasp, lifting it into view. He let a small gasp of disbelief cross his lips as he stared at the face that seemed to have changed so much, though it had only altered subtlely. 

                He _was_ the man from the memories, but... his black hair was gone, the colour changed to a light mahogany brown, the curled waves ever the same, but perhaps thinner, lacking in the life they had had before.

                _We shall see about that_, he thought wryly, touching a hand to his chin and upper lip. The fine facial hair was gone. _Perhaps an improvement._

                Smiling, he tossed the mirror without a care back onto its place of being, hearing the glass crack, shrugging it off as none of his concern. So his appearance had changed, if only slightly... it mattered little to him. He still carried the same face he had paid dearly for, still walked in the same body and thought with the same brain. A change in mane and trimmings was a trivial issue. He cast it aside as a less than essential thought, and halted at his clothing.

                _This won't do_, he mused, plucking at the hole once more, before laying his eyes upon a suitcase and brightening with a muttered, "Aha." He crossed to it, and threw it open with a flourish, suddenly cheery without reason.

                His brain was working in overdrive to categorise everything that he was starting to remember, and he hummed a light operatic tune as he changed his attire. Flashes of images and the frequent blaring of recollected sound or speech did not deter him from his task, as he drew a brush from the case and took to tidying his curls. 

                He smiled at the rather - in his own opinion - fetching reflection, clad now in flawless fabrics and the finest of suits only worn by gentlemen of high stature. He looked quite the sight for sore eyes... if one were to ask the man himself. 

                "Perfect," he muttered, tugging experimentally on the sarcenet and smiling with a satisfied sigh. He scooped up the cane-sword, and twirled it in his hand. It seemed he certainly knew how to use it.

                Before crossing out of the room, his mind made up, everything back in clear, sharp focus, he halted where he had been 'destroyed'... some would say killed. He bent down gracefully with an almost feline elegance, and took the dropped ring in his hand, rising to his full height once more, tossing it carefully into the air. Afterwards, he slipped it smoothly onto the middle finger of his left hand, comforted by the weight of the jewellery. 

                Of course, curiousity taking over, he stopped at one of the cracks in the wall of the building, and peered out with a frown. Sighing, he realised he would need some sort of insulating clothing if he was going to traipse about in _that_ abysmal weather. 

                Trying to find his way to a suitable ground level exit, and some sort of useful clothing, such as a coat or a cloak preferably, he whistled jauntily to himself. An onlooker would have perceived him as extremely strange to be so optimistic when just returning from the dead. 

                But, a casual onlooker would not be able to see into the mind of the man and comprehend the already formulating plan concocting itself there, twisting and forming into something - in the man's humble opinion - beautiful. 

                Dorian Gray's mind was made up... he would take back what was his... oh yes...

* * *

**A/N2: **Okay, yes... so love me/hate me for altering dear Dorian so, but it needed to be done! For a pic of him in his dashing new form, please do check out my and swoon your little hearts out. Either that, or just think whether or not you like it. You might recognise it straight away, and yes... it _is_ still Stuart Townsend. Well, please do let me know what you think, something you fellow LXG fans have a boisterous talent for indeed. Let me know whether you like it or not, and I shall get around to writing the next part pronto... meaning as soon as I can, lol. Ciao for now!


	2. From Beyond The Grave

**Author's Note: **Ugh… BTLOTM was being a pain, lol, so I decided to give this a whirl instead. Thought it might help to let the wolves alone when they obviously don't want to be bothered, and instead… write the story with Dorian in? O_O Hmmm… am I feeling all right? *touches forehead* Didn't think so. ^_^

**RogueSparrow: **I rock? Awesome *picks up guitar and has a jam*

**angelic katty: **Dorian was _born_ that way.

**Psychozzy:** Wow… that's quite a compliment. Thank you.

**LotRseer3350:** Ack the flattery! Don't spoil me you guys! Lol. 

**20xd6:** Hmmm… want a chainsaw? Might work better… he _is_ immortal after all…

**Leigh S. Durron: **Chills down your spine? Excellent. Mission accomplished.

**drowchild: **No, it doesn't connect with _'Mad World'_. You can decide for yourself if that's a good or bad thing. Don't worry… he's in this chapter.

**Rayne: **Ah, excellent, pleased reviewer #1. Glad you approve of the Dorian Mark II as I've come to call him ^_^ Lol. 

**Capt. Cow: **Soon enough?

**Graymoon74: **Ah, phew. Glad you're pleased about Dorian's new look as well. Couldn't help but write a little about Dorian. I brought Allan back in BTLOTM, so I thought everyone's favourite immortal deserved a chance too.

**Sethoz: ***cackles maniacally* Ah excellent… glad I've nabbed your attention, dear friend. Hope this satisfies.

* * *

                "Salau!"

                The orb sailed through the air after being launched by one of the sailors, and the marksman watched it with detached interest as it continued on its trajectory. He had been up here for almost two hours, and so far, he had gone through quite an impressive amount of ammunition. It mattered little to him, for the captain of the mighty vessel he stood on the deck of at that very moment did a marvellous job of supplying him with more when he needed it. 

                He squeezed the trigger, feeling the recoil from the impressive gun, and watched the target explode, pieces of the buoy splintering off in all directions and then vanishing into the waves as the submersible – above the water for the time being – rushed past. 

                Special Agent Thomas Sawyer lowered the elephant gun, accustomed to its weight now, and hefted it in one hand as he opened it to reload. The gun – Matilda as it had so fondly been called once – bent open quietly, permitting the action, and the American wasted no time in doing so. As of late, he had spent more and more time on the conning tower of the Nautilus, practising his shooting and his marksmanship with either the Winchesters or the elephant gun… he always found the latter more effective for long range somehow.

                _Maybe because this is a hunter's gun_, he surmised with half a frown as he propped the butt to his shoulder whilst snapping the weapon shut. He narrowed his eyes, ready for the shot he had been planning since the get-go, and called, "Salau!"

                The next target was launched, and instead of waiting for it to land, he arced the barrel of the gun along with it, gritting his teeth with the concentration, and pulled the trigger, hoping it would find its mark.

                Even as the target was struck, Tom did not allow himself the triumph he had once so revelled in, slightly startled when the disembodied voice said, "You're getting frighteningly good at that, Sawyer."

                "Jeez…" Tom muttered, and rested the butt down on the metal below his feet, eyeing the direction in which his companion's voice had originated. "What are you doing up here?" He had a fair idea… it was nearing their evening meal, and every night now, Tom had to be collected – just about. Each time it was a different person, sometimes Rodney Skinner – the 'gentleman thief' who stood beside him now – but more often than not it was their resident woman; Mina. He wondered where she was tonight, and then decided not to let it bother him… as difficult as that would be.

                Rodney Skinner shuffled beside him. Tom heard him sigh, and then his words as he said, "One of Nemo's men said there's a message come through for you." Though he had no way of telling, Tom thought the invisible man turned his head in the American's direction. "From 'home' apparently."

                Tom just about dropped the gun, instead forcing it roughly towards the area where he assumed Skinner was standing, hearing a light 'oof' before he charged to the door, and shot through it. He bolted down the steps leading from the tower, vaguely making out the thief calling after him. He ignored the protests, and charged down the corridors to the communication room, darting in and out of bustling crewmen as he did so, nearly knocking one right off his feet. He called a rushed apology over his shoulder, unaware of why he was so desperate to read this apparent message.

                 He burst into the room containing the communications equipment, a little out of breath without realising, and managed to say, "There was a message for me?"

                The crewman looked to him with wide, startled eyes, seemingly on the verge of calling for assistance in thinking Tom some sort of deranged madman, and muttered, "Um… yes… yes, sir. It is over there." He pointed to the far table.

                Tom strode to the table, and picked the message up in his hands, reading it. It had been translated from Morse into writing for him, and he carefully read the words… and then reread them. This didn't make any sense. They were asking him to return to America… for what; he didn't know. It didn't go into detail, something he found rather frustrating indeed. He shoved the message into his pocket; brow furrowed in confusion, and mumbled his thanks to the man on duty. He nodded his response, listening for any further communiqué, and Tom stepped from the room. 

                His hands found his pockets, as he went on his way to find Nemo.

* * *

                The pen darted across the page, and then, suddenly, it stopped, the blue eyes that had been fixed upon it wavering before closing. The headache was resilient, she had to give it that… but it was getting beyond annoying. She had already taken some painkillers, and had done nothing to ease the pain. Sighing, she set the pen down, and removed her spectacles, before freezing as if a chill had run up her spine.

                Twisting in her chair, she let her eyes fall upon the portrait. The face painted there stared back at her, that same cocky smile finding its way deep into her soul and cutting deeply. She turned back, and shuddered. Why had she kept it? Why hadn't she destroyed it? _Why_?

                _Because you can't, and you know it_, answered a small, knowing voice in the rear of her mind, and she succumbed to its reasoning. She knew it was right. She rubbed her temples, and risked a glance at it again. The dark eyes stared right back at her, and she forced herself to look away, chiding herself for her curiousity.

                Standing from her desk, she strode to the chest and pulled a cloth from it. She proceeded to hook the cloth over the corners of the painting's ornate frame, and let it hang; covering the face upon it. She had had enough of staring at it – and having _it_ stare back – for one day. Once the cloth settled, fluttering for only a moment, she felt her spirits soar just that little bit in order for her to brighten a little.

                She saw someone at the doorway – or rather sensed and _then_ saw them as she turned – and noticed it was young Agent Sawyer. He was watching her. She was suddenly glad the portrait was covered. No one had seen it yet, other than herself. They did not know she had kept it, having claimed it after the Mongolia incident, very much in secret.

                "Can I help you, Agent Sawyer?" she asked of him politely, dusting down her skirt subconsciously as she moved from the wall, not wishing to draw attention to it in any way now that she had concealed it from view. 

                He regarded her with hazel-flecked green eyes for a moment, looking at her through the blonde feathered 'bangs' – as Americans called them – along his brow, and then replied, "I was looking for Captain Nemo. Have you seen him?"

                Wilhelmina Harker stood at the foot of her bed, feeling its silent call to her, and then shook her head. "I'm afraid I haven't. But it is closing on dinner. Is it important?"

                "Yes," Sawyer replied at once, and nodded. "I need to go back to America."

                "America?" Mina inquired, raising a brow. "Why is that? Have you been recalled?"

                Sawyer shrugged loosely under the thin fabric of his white shirt, buttoned up to his chest, and sighed. "I'm not sure. I got a message calling me 'home'. That's Missouri… always has been. Guess it always will be."

                "Was there no way to contact them in return for details?" Mina asked sceptically. They had been burned in the past – quite literally for one member – and she was in no hurry to feel the flames of betrayal again so soon. "It could very well be a ploy."

                "I'm aware of that," Sawyer challenged gently, his eyes playing over her face before focusing on the draped frame. "What is that?"

                "Excuse me?" She feigned ignorance. It had served her well on occasion in the past.

                He nodded toward it, still hovering in the doorway. "The thing you covered just before I came along. What is it? A picture?"

                "No," she said to him in response. "It is a mirror… sometimes I tire of seeing my reflection." She realised afterwards that it sounded feeble, and somewhat vain, especially when coupled with the wan smile she offered him, and quickly added, "Besides… it is damaged. I will have one of Nemo's men repair it when I can."

                Sawyer nodded slowly, a smooth motion that disturbed his blonde locks for a moment, before he moved to continue on his search. Sighing, Mina pursued him casually, feeling a slight hunger in the pit of her stomach. She thanked whatever was responsible for it being a normal hunger… not that of the vampire within. With the presence of fresh, young blood, the result could have been disastrous had she not been able to quell it in time. 

                "I will accompany you," she told him when he threw her a questioning gaze over his shoulder, "it is close to dinner, as I said. We will be called shortly. If we head for the dining hall, we may catch Nemo in order for you to make your request."

                The young man smiled and nodded for a moment. The expression faltered and faded away. 

                "Is something the matter?"

                He glanced to her again, his eyes clouded over with confusion, and he furrowed his brow as he said, "I'm not sure. It's just…" he paused, pensively, "Missouri… St. Petersburg actually, was always my home before I joined the Secret Service. When me and… a friend of mine went away… and something happened…"

                Mina noticed his hesitation, and gently urged him to continue.

                "It was when we were chasing the Phantom… something went wrong, the mission went bad, and he died. When I went back…" another lengthy, uncomfortable pause, before he managed to finish with, "let's just say I wasn't exactly 'home' anymore."

                Mina nodded slowly. She felt sympathy swell up inside of her for the young man, but decided against showing it. Her veil of nonchalance had always served her well, but she could show emotion whenever she chose. She quickly surmised that this was not an opportune moment for such a thing, and said, "I assume that you will be requesting to return specifically to St. Petersburg?"

                He nodded, remaining silent; seemingly battling with his inner urge to let his own emotions rise up and take over. The agent did a good job of hiding them, apart from in his eyes; the soulful green eyes that always betrayed what he was feeling, whether he realised or not. 

                Mina let her words die down after that also, and walked in silence along with the young man, both similar in height, but so very different inside. One a spy, the other a vampire and a chemist. They were quite the pair, to be seem walking equally, side by side down the corridors of the Nautilus; Sword of The Ocean. 

* * *

                Doctor Henry Jekyll rolled over in his bed, unable to sleep, and stared at the ceiling above him, contemplating their course change. They were no longer headed to… he couldn't remember their original heading now, but he knew they had changed it to make their way to America at the request of young Agent Tom Sawyer. Nemo had obliged, considering how they were no longer undertaking a mission at the moment. They hadn't long completed a minor one, including a kidnapped politician's daughter in London. It had not lasted very long, and after a brief investigation, they had found the poor girl locked up in some slum, and Hyde and Sawyer – along with a rather bumbling Skinner – had rescued her whilst Nemo and Mrs. Harker had taken care of the men outside.

                _"And what did you do, Henry? Nothing… as usual."_

                Henry groaned, and rolled onto his front, burying his face in his pillow as the voice of his alter ego, Edward Hyde, bubbled up in his subconscious again. It was never easy to shut the brute out, but at night it seemed more difficult. It was almost as though Edward were nocturnal.

                _An interesting thought_, he mused to himself, and rolled over onto his side, snuggling into his blankets as he felt the churning of the engines through the very bulkheads themselves, and before long… much to his surprise, he was asleep, giving in to dreams.

                Whether or not the dreams were his or Edward's… he would not remember in the morning.

* * *

                It was only a matter of days – two to be precise – before the _League_ managed to draw their way through the Mississippi like the mighty sword the Nautilus represented and resembled. She cut through the lazy waters with ease, like a hot blade, and travelled with stealthy silence that did them little good in the daytime. 

                Tom was impatient in the hold, walking back and forth next to the shell of an automobile in the process of reconstruction. He eyed it every now and then, almost eagerly, and he was watched by a grinning Rodney Skinner – though no one could see it, for the man had left his face unpainted – and a very intrigued Mina Harker. She raised an eyebrow, and smiled ever so slightly at his behaviour.

                Dr. Henry Jekyll had arrived not too long ago, still tidying his chestnut hair to one side, and offering everybody a weak, somewhat timid smile and a muttered, "Good morning."

                It was indeed morning; around ten o'clock in Missouri to be precise, and Tom felt the shift in the vessel as they started to turn towards the dock. He hoped there were no boats in the way, and at the thought, he smiled ever so slightly, remembering flashes of his childhood, such as pirating with his friends.

                Captain Nemo pushed through into the hold not too long after the shift in their speed, and he nodded to Tom. "Only a few minutes now, Agent Sawyer. Are you certain this was the place intended in the message? It appears to be nothing more than a fishing community."

                "This is the place," Tom replied swiftly with a nod, and walked to the ramp before the ship had even finished moving. Mina strode up to his left, with Skinner, Jekyll and Nemo taking up positions around them. Tom took a deep breath. He had no idea what would await him on the other side of this door.

                The Nautilus ground to a halt, and with a clank and a slight creak, the ramp slowly lowered, crashing gently down on the bank of St. Petersburg.

                Tom and the others strode forward, and as they emerged into the sunlight, Tom squinted slightly, and glanced up. His breath caught in his throat at the sight that awaited him. Standing in front of a covered horse-drawn carriage in the sunlight were a young man and woman side by side.

                The man looked up the ramp at him with blue eyes, and a cheeky grin. His curly black hair settled around his brow, ears and neck at the back, and he glanced to the woman by his side. Though Tom could not see them for definite, he knew the man wore pistols at his hips… he could see the impressions of them upon his thigh-length black coat. 

                The woman was smiling up at him… _actually_ smiling… at _him_! He hadn't thought it possible when he'd last seen her. They had parted on such awful terms. He had written her a letter about the death of his partner, and when he'd arrived back to try and talk to her in person, she had practically beaten him to make him leave, thrashing against his chest furiously. He winced at the memory, and then caught her light blue eyes beaming up at him, and he couldn't help but smile lopsidedly. Her blonde hair was free, falling in gorgeous, elegant waves about her lean pretty face, framing her smile and making her whole face shine as if encompassed in light.

                "Becky…" he managed, and found he couldn't take his eyes off her. He knew Skinner for one had to be staring, but right now he couldn't think of anything other than Rebecca Thatcher, just as beautiful as he remembered her.

                The young man beside Becky laughed, and said; – with a light Southern drawl – "Well at least he hasn't forgotten your name. That's something."

                "Be quiet, Joe," Becky chided lightly, and threw him a scathing look.

                Special Agent Joseph Harper chuckled quietly, and crossed his arms over his chest, even as the _League_ finished its descent of the ramp. Tom parted from his companions, hoping no one too superstitious caught sight of Skinner and thought him a ghost. He strode up on the soft bank to Becky and Joe, and smiled at them.

                "It was _you_, wasn't it? _You_ sent me that message." He looked between the two of them, and Joe shrugged mischievously. Tom was tempted to give him a light punch in the arm, before he found himself asking, "What's goin' on?"

                In response, Joe looked over his shoulder as the door to the carriage clicked to signal it was opening. Joe stepped aside, and Becky moved a little closer to Tom and turned her face to the cloaked and hooded figure that hopped out of the confines of the horse-drawn transport.

                The _League_ looked on as the figure finished their short climb, and stood before Tom Sawyer, almost eerily, before a hand pushed forth from the cloak, and reached up to the hood.

                Tom watched warily. Was this some kind of prank? Were they trying to teach him a lesson somehow?

                The figure took a light hold on the front of the hood, and pulled back on it, casting their face into light and dropping the cloth gently down their back. They had mahogany-brown hair, tousled and falling in every direction imaginable as if the young man had not bothered to even try and neaten it. Their chocolate-coloured eyes laughed even if the face did not. They regarded the other man seriously, though a ghost of a smile haunted their face.

                Tom felt his breath snatched from him, and his knees weakened at once. He almost had to grab at Becky to keep himself from falling, gasping, "Oh my god…"

                The figure laughed, and strode toward him, looking up at him, at least four or five inches shorter. 

                Tom stared down at the other man for what seemed like an eternity, his emotions battling with him for supremacy: joy; disbelief; confusion. It all swam up in him and clashed horribly, and before he knew what he was doing, he had thrust his arms out and embraced the other man so suddenly that he could have sworn he knocked the wind out of him.

                Behind the embracing pair, Becky Thatcher and Joe Harper smiled.


	3. Just Under The Surface

**Author's Note: **Well, greetings and welcome to Chapter 3 of _Ghosts of Old_! This is going to get gradually darker, and for those of you with that age-old question burning on your lips, I have no idea how long this is going to be! Lol… hope that helped *snort* Yeah, right. Anyway, working on three pieces at once is quite a challenge that I've carelessly thrust myself into, but I feel I'm up to the task! Bring it on! Bwahaha! *nervous laugh*

Caraphoenix: I can't see Becky as an agent myself, but you're hitting pretty close to home on another topic… 

**Enduro: **No need to shrug so… especially not when you might be closer to the truth than you realise.

**Psychozzy: **Glad I can keep you writing your own story. Good to know. I haven't read the second chapter actually, if it's the story I'm thinking of…

**Sethoz: **Happiness for Tom? In _my_ story? Whoa… what's _wrong_ with me? I think I must be coming down with something, lol :) Sorry this took so long, and update your stories already! Lol.

**RogueSparrow: ***strums lightly on guitar* Rock is good… in small doses, which is why this chapter is quite calm as well. I'll ease you in, something that makes me think this might be quite lengthy, almost a` la _Silver Bullet_. 

**Rayne: **I'm thinking everyone's favourite vamp will show plenty of emotion soon, and I should know, shouldn't I!

**Capt. Cow: **How come everyone is always asking me in particular for a love story (not that I have anything against that)? :)

**Graymoon: **I think everyone twigged who that 'guy' was in the last chapter. And I'm just going to say this for the record, though you may not understand until later *chuckle* you… are a genius. 

**LotRseer3350:** Darker than this? Jeez… that's gonna be pretty damn dark then, lol. This is going to get – as you might have seen from the trailer – pretty dark and tense, and the rating might slip up a little too later on. We'll have to wait and see though. Thank you kindly for your comments.

* * *

                Tom clung to Huckleberry Finn as though he would fade away if he let go, his eyes clamped shut, his emotions just under the surface, fighting to be released. His breathing was slightly disrupted by the shock to his belief that his oldest friend had died, and when he opened his eyes just slightly, they were lined with unshed tears. Still, he embraced Huck, afraid to release him, not knowing what to say. He was fully aware that all eyes were on them though, and he cared very little about that… all that mattered was that he share this moment with the partner he had thought lost forever. 

                Huck's arms were around him as well, and he finally patted him on the back, and although Tom could not see the other young man's face, he knew from experience the smile was there, warm and disarming, as he said, "It's okay, Tom… you can let go now."

                But Tom did not want to. He took in a deep breath, and despite his urge to cling on for as long as possible, he drew back, studying Huck's face, as if searching for signs of deceit, any indication that this was all a trick. He found nothing… this was _Huck_.  "My god," he managed in a shuddering voice, shaking his head, "it's you." 

                "Well who else's it gonna be, Tom? Injun Joe?"

                Where he normally would have laughed at the childhood reference, Tom ran his hands through his hair with a sigh of disbelief, blinking back the tears and noticing they obeyed his silent inner command to stay there. He glanced to the beautiful Becky, and the grinning Joe. "How long?" he asked of them quietly.

                Becky took a step towards him, running a hand gently over his arm. He shuddered slightly at her touch, expecting cruelty or shunning from her, but instead surprised at the tenderness he received. "Months… we wanted to wait until we were certain he'd pulled through to notify you, and then we had to try and track you down. That wasn't easy, Tom… we were worried."

                Without warning, staring into the clear blue eyes – so like Mina's – for a long time, he took her in his arms then, and gave her an affectionate embrace, subtlely taking in the fragrance of her hair as he held her. It was just as he remembered it… like wild flowers.

                "Well now I'm jealous," Joe quipped lightly with a soft chuckle, hands in his pockets, and when Tom broke away from Becky, he smiled at his long-time friend.

                "Damn," Tom mumbled, and looked between the faces gathered, and then to the smiling _League_. Even the normally stoic Captain Nemo was smiling just at the corners of his mouth. Tom cleared his throat, and threw a certain inquiring gaze to the regal Indian man, who nodded his acknowledgement.

                "Of course," he agreed to Tom's silent question. Then he turned to the other Americans and said, "You are all welcome aboard my Nautilus to discuss these matters and become reacquainted. My crew are at your disposal." He strode towards them then, and half-bowed politely in greeting. "My name is Captain Nemo. If you require anything, you need only ask."

                "Thank you, Captain," Becky acknowledged with a warm smile. Tom suddenly remembered his manners, and lightly slapped his forehead with a grimace as to his lapse in formality.

                "Sorry," he muttered to everyone, and then continued, "this is the _League of Extraordinary Gentlemen_." He addressed the fellow Americans as he said this, and indicated the individual_ League_ members with a hand; "Captain Nemo; Mrs. Wilhelmina Harker; Dr. Henry Jekyll and Rodney Skinner."

                Becky gave a light gasp behind her hand, and Tom quickly cut in with, "He's invisible, but don't worry. He's… don't worry." He smiled his old charming smile at Becky, and she nodded slightly. Then he turned to the _League_, and said in regards to his oldest companions, "This is Joe Harper. I've known him nearly my whole life. Rebecca Thatcher-"

                "Becky," she offered quickly.

                Tom smiled, and looked once again, still in awe at the face that should not have been, not any longer. "And…" He laughed quietly, disbelieving. "Special Agent Huckleberry Finn."

                "I thought-" Skinner started, only to receive a none-too-subtle elbow in the ribs from Mina, and he gave a quiet 'oof', quickly descending into silence, realising his track of thought was not appropriate.

                Tom gazed at the invisible man, or where he thought the other's eyes would have been, and smiled lopsidedly, saying, "So did I."

* * *

                Huck Finn sat in the dining room – or rather luxury stateroom as he thought it should be called – on the… what had the Captain entitled it? The Nautilus… that was it. He sat opposite Tom and Becky, with Joe by his side, a cooling cup of oddly coloured tea in front of him, barely touched. They were too intent on talking. Tom and the others had removed their coats and been relieved of them by some of Nemo's crew, which had startled and unnerved Huck slightly. He still wasn't used to people waiting on him, even after all the care he had had to undergo.

                "So… what _happened_? You _died_… I saw it with my own eyes." Tom was shaking his head in disbelief still, Becky watching him… in fact; Huck noticed she could barely take her eyes off him. Even Huck could tell that Tom Sawyer had matured a heck of a lot since their last parting.

                Huck shifted slightly in his seat, trying to recall how many times he had told this tale, even as he launched into it again, "They said that when they found me, I _was_ almost gone. They reckoned if they'd have left it a minute longer, I wouldn't be here now."

                Tom frowned, guilt washing over his features, and his head bowed slightly, the rather long blonde bangs falling in his face.

                "Hey," Huck began, leaning against the table slightly, and calling Tom's attention to him. "Don't be like that… what am I gonna blame you for, huh? I thought I was a gonner too… I don't blame you for leaving like ya' did… someone needed to stop that madman." Huck bit his bottom lip for a moment, hesitant. "Which reminds me… did you…?"

                Tom raised his head, taking in a deep breath. He seemed taller all of a sudden as he nodded confidently. "I got him, Huck."

                The shorter American could not stop his grin. "I knew you'd get him."

                The two shared a knowing gaze for a long while, before Huck continued, "Anyway, where was I? Oh, that's right… they found me in that building where that maniac shot me, and managed to get me to a hospital. The Secret Service paid for all the bills, and they got me the best treatment they could… at least, that's what _they_ say."

                "And that's what they did, Huckleberry Finn," Becky cut in then, jabbing a feminine finger in his direction for a moment with a warning smile and a slight narrowing of her eyes, "so don't you go saying all those things again."

                Tom cast a glance between the two, and cocked his head. Neither embellished on the details, which Huck knew would drive his friend more than a little crazy. He liked to know what was going on when and where he could, however he could… and being denied the data would bother him. More than anything, Huck found it amusing, and grinned at his partner.

                _That's if the Secret Service still count Tom as an agent… no good having a partner who's off with some British… whatever they are. Odd bunch though, invisible and all that._ Huck couldn't deny that there was an odd aura around the group as they had greeted one another. They had split off to give the American's some time to catch up, and Huck hadn't seen them since.

                "They weren't sure I'd make it, even in the hospital… but they said it was a miracle I'd survived at all, the bullet was so close to my heart."

                Tom let out a slow exhalation, and whistled softly, leaning back in his chair. "So the Service let you back in?"

                "They sure did," Huck revealed with nothing less than a proud smirk. "You gotta admit, they haven't got that many agents as it is… they couldn't wait 'til I was up and about again. They were scared I'd tell 'em no."

                "After what you went through, I'm not surprised they thought that," Becky offered quietly, dropping her gaze for a moment. She had taken on a kind of sisterly mantle in regards to Huck, which was sometimes the most gentle and warming thing he could think of, but in other times it was just about as annoying as the Widow Douglas and her unnecessary mothering all those years ago.

                "It's part of the risk we all knew about when we joined up," Joe input, shrugging his shoulders. Huck nodded.

                "Don't go ganging up on me again. You know I hate that." She narrowed her eyes. Tom smiled, and seemed content. Huck couldn't help but feel at ease just because of the sheer inner joy he read in Tom Sawyer' eyes. He couldn't remember ever seeing the other young man so happy. Despite his burning urge to demand all there was to know about this '_League_', Huck fell silent, and simply enjoyed their company, Joe, Tom and Becky continuing to talk around him as if nothing had ever happened. But Huck knew for a fact that Tom was aching inside, filled with guilt that needn't exist… Huck didn't blame him. How could he?

                _Maybe that's what Tom wants_, Huck reasoned, furrowing his brow discreetly as Becky recalled the tale of how Joe had been made a Special Agent during Tom's absence. Tom nodded his head approvingly and congratulated Joe, who acted as modest as he could… which wasn't very much at all, something that humoured Huck. 

                But he couldn't help but wonder… would Tom leave this collection of individuals now that Huck was back 'from the dead'…?

* * *

                Not only had it taken him days to even find the nearest port, but Dorian Gray had also had to endure the stinking presence of peasants and merchants on the vessel on their journey back to England. It was some small grace that the boat had been headed for London at all, but it – in no way – made up for the discomfort of the lengthy travelling period. People had constantly hounded him, encroaching on his privacy and getting too close for comfort. 

                _I may only be newly resurrected, but I still have my values_, he thought as he stepped from the dock, in desperate want of a hot, cleansing bath… and the repossession of his painting, which he had discovered missing from Moriarty's fortress in Mongolia. He had a fair idea where it had gone, and there was very little doubt in his mind when it came to certainty regarding the explanation.

                _Mina… she claimed to despise everything about me and my 'wicked ways', yet she seems to have claimed the one thing that was my very undoing. How very odd._ Smiling as he walked, back in his element, very much the picture of a gentlemen as he sauntered briskly and confidently – some would say overly so – down the streets to Melmoth House, his property, he couldn't help but think over his plan, the one he had had much time to formulate and work on during the journey from Mongolia. 

                It was perfect, so simple and yet so undeniably genius in its construction. Truly, his mind had not suffered from the 'death'. Chuckling lightly, he arrived at the rather dilapidated door to his home, and tried the handle, finding it locked. Rolling his eyes, he rapped on it with the pommel of his cane, waiting for any signs of life from inside. 

                It was a few minutes at least before a tentative hand pulled back the shutter in the spy-hole, small, beady eyes peering through for a moment before the door opened a crack, and a timid mousy voice inquired, "… Mr. Gray? My goodness, is that you?"

                "Would you mind terribly letting me into my own house, Annabelle?"

                The maid hopped away from the door, and nodded briskly. "So sorry, Mr. Gray, but we had lost all hope of you ever returning. When we came back from our small vacation you granted us, we found your library in such a state that we thought you gone. We've had all manner of people hounding us for papers to the property, interested in its lease."

                _I cannot recall allowing them **any** kind of vacation… oh well, no matter_.

                Dorian scoffed inwardly, walking up the stairs in need of treatment, Annabelle hovering back from him slightly but following him nevertheless. "A hot bath and some brandy would not go unwelcome, Annabelle."

                She was used to his clipped tones and abrupt nature, and the way he would disregard almost everything that spilled from her rather big mouth. It seemed to have no affect on her any longer, something for which Dorian was mildly grateful. There was nothing worse than an offended servant, a presence that he despised if ever there was one. He did not want hesitance and second-guessing in his company. He needed – demanded – confidence and loyalty, and he only ever hired what he liked the look of.

                He did not have many individuals in his employ, but those he did keep around were determined to keep him satisfied, something he enjoyed. Seeing them scramble to keep in his good graces was entertainment enough. Who needed plays and the like when there was enough drama in the household?

                Smiling, he reached the head of the stairs, heading for his library whilst Annabelle scurried off to do as he had asked of her… no, not asked… he had _told_ her. There was a difference, one that he was not blind to.

                He pushed open the doors to his library, hesitated in the doorway, letting the smile grow across his handsome face at the realisation that it had been restored.

                _Faithful and resolute to the end it would seem_, he thought, even as one of his manservants came up behind him, seemingly not in the slightest bit intimidated. One of his more tolerable employees, Dorian did not mind the presence of James in most circumstances when the opinion of one with a brain was called for. And James most certainly did have a brain, though he knew when to shut it off in need for obedience only.

                "I require an investigation to take place, James," Dorian said by way of acknowledgement as he strode to his favoured chair and lowered himself into it, savouring in its quaint comfort as he toyed with his cane in his left hand. "It calls for the combined efforts of a number of my old… contacts. Summon them for me."

                "At once, Mr. Gray," James confirmed, and walked straight-backed from the room without hesitation. Dorian watched him go, admiring the way the man had not even flinched – as Annabelle had – at the change in his appearance. It was, after all, less than subtle, and a little startling. 

                Smiling, he awaited the word that his contacts had been summoned, something that he would expect almost eagerly. Perhaps not quite so keenly as a hot bath perhaps, but word that an investigation was pending would be most satisfactory indeed.

                _Then the games can truly begin…_


	4. Two & Two Makes Five

**Author's Note: **Yup indeedy, another long update time… my apologies. I do try. Anywho, you didn't come here to read my waffle, so without any further adieu (after the shout outs, of course, lol), here is Chapter 4 of _Ghosts of Old_. By the way, the chapter title comes from a Radiohead song, and I just thought it fit in its own odd, cryptic way. Please do let me know if you get it ~_^

**Leigh S. Durron:** Thanks for the poster! _Love _it! As I'm sure everyone else will (that reminds me, everyone, the poster/cover art for this story is now up on my site; check it out!). This one's your favourite? Intriguing, but not a bad thing.

**Psychozzy: **So glad that line made you laugh. I only put it in that way cuz I got halfway through it, and it evaded me. Blah, lol!  You know how it is.

**Sethoz: ***stares at you, and then rereads what she has written so far* Jeez, I _am_ still being nice to Tom! O_O What's wrong with me? LOL! So glad I'm writing a convincing Dorian… I was worried cuz I haven't 'portrayed' him before, so I haven't had as much practise if you catch my drift. Yes, you, write your stuff! Write it!

**RogueSparrow: ***writes note for Sparrow saying 'Do not annoy immortal' and sticks it to her head, reversed so she can read it in the mirror*  ^_^

**Enduro: **No Dorian content? O_O Are you mad, dear Enduro? Lol. How could I resist? He's so annoyingly appealing ^_^ 

**Graymoon74: ***Clez's head swells* Ack, no stop! You're giving me a fat head! O_o Again, as with Sethoz, I'm glad you believe I'm writing a believable Dorian. That's comforting. Do not despair! Dorian's dark plans will manifest so very soon, muahahaha! Note to self: shut up.

* * *

                Tom and Becky walked side by side as the sun set outside the Nautilus, the long lazy Missouri day slipping away. They weren't even sure where they were headed; they just knew that their feet intended to carry them there… wherever 'there' may be. They travelled close together, barely more than two inches apart, but not speaking. Since Huck and Joe had entered into a colourful tale about something – Tom had honestly forgotten – after the former's return to health, they had barely said more than a word to one another. 

                Occasionally, their eyes would look to one another, at least until the observed turned to regard the observer, and the eyes darted away again as if embarrassed. Tom himself could not comprehend the behaviour, and tried to fathom it, sort it through in his busy, confused mind and find a reason. Needless to say, he failed.

                He supposed it was because he had simply _forgotten_ how beautiful Becky was… looking at her now made his heart skip a beat, and almost leap into his throat. His breathing faltered slightly, and his knees would weaken. He had heard about the behaviour as a child – Mary having been a hopeless romantic at times, something that had annoyed Tom greatly at the time – and had thought nothing of it until then.

                "So," Becky began suddenly, her voice carrying the southern edge, but soft and almost soothing, like gentle music, "Huck and Joe are heading back into the town tonight with… is it Skinner? The man with no body?"

                _Uh oh… not Skinner. Here's hoping he doesn't start any trouble._ Tom furrowed his brow. _But I guess Huck and Joe can handle themselves._ His eyes met Becky's, and he shrugged, and nodded. "Sounds like fun… as long as Skinner keeps himself under control." He smiled, noticing her look of concern, quickly adding, "Don't worry… he's a good guy when you get to know him. He can just get a little… excited. And he does have a body… it's just invisible."

                _Just shut up… just… stop talking._ He cleared his throat quietly, and stopped walking as well, not even realising he had done it until Becky turned back to him from a few steps ahead.

                "Tom?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "Are you all right?"

                Looking to his right he realised what had happened. His feet had been commanded by his subconscious to stop… simply because he had come upon his cabin without even noticing. He cocked his head, as if the door would explain, and then looked to Becky. "Um," he began, cursing himself for his fumbling, "this is my room." He jabbed a thumb at the door to emphasise, and noticed his brow was still furrowed as if confused.

                She paced back over to him, and stopped in front of him, looking up into his face with a slight frown. After a moment, she asked quietly, "Can I come in?"

                Tom stared, unblinking and thrown by the statement. It wasn't so much a question, because Becky Thatcher had to know that Tom Sawyer could not and _would_ not say no to her. He fumbled madly for a moment, before settling for a simple and decisive nod, sending his tousled bangs into disarray.

                She smiled sweetly, lighting up her whole face, the expression even reaching her blue eyes, and entered the room. Tom let out a slow breath, and walked in after her, closing the door, realising she had activated two or three of the lamps. The room was cast into a gentle illumination, throwing soft shadows against the walls and over Tom and Becky's young faces. The agent stood by the door, his hands slipping into his pockets casually, as though he didn't know what to do with them.

                Becky ran her hand over the items on Tom's jumbled desk: books; notes; shell casings that rattled when she brushed over them. She picked one up with a smile, before softly and silently placing it back down. Her eyes roamed, and she smiled at Tom, saying, "This is a nice room."

                That was when Tom looked around, furrowing his brow. _This? A **nice** room?_ His eyes fell on the objects lying in random spots around the floor and over chairs. Luckily, his bed had been made, making up for some of the other mess. "You're kidding… right?"

                She laughed, and not just with her face… it was with her _whole_ body, truly humoured. She shook her head, her blonde tresses flowing with the motion as she managed to mutter, "No, I'm not kidding."

                "Oh…" He didn't know what else to say, drawing a hand out of his pocket and subconsciously scratching his head, trying to find another topic of conversation. 

                "You and Joe didn't say much."

                "What?" His eyes rose to meet hers, seeing she was moving toward him slightly, stopping beside a low table where her fingers played over the very brim of the lampshade.

                "You and Joe… before you left – you and Huck – Joe was like a brother to you almost. Now… I don't know, but you seem reluctant."

                Tom narrowed his eyes in perplexity. He hadn't noticed anything, only that Joe had been watchful of Becky, as though Tom were going to lash out at the young woman, something that was unthinkable… probably to anyone who met her. To even muse on hurting her intentionally in any way was atrocious, and just – to Tom at least – not done.

                "I… I didn't notice anything," he managed to say after a moment.

                Her eyes lowered as she spoke, in a quiet tone as though afraid of being overheard, "Is it because he and I were involved?"

                Inside his mind, Tom let out a surprised shout, but kept it from coming into audible being, simply staring, eyes no longer narrowed as he stammered, "W… er, what?" Then he shook his head, closing his eyes and saying in continuation, "The two of you were _involved_?" He just couldn't see it… where had the attraction come from? He had never seen it before, not once.

                Becky looked slightly alarmed, as though she had made a mistake she had not intended, and let out a timid, "Oh…"

                "I had no idea."

                "I thought you knew."

                Tom shook his head vehemently.

                "Sorry…"

                _Why is she apologising?_ Tom thought, fighting against the strong pang of jealousy he felt. Never in his life would he have thought he would be jealous of his old friend Joe Harper… but a _relationship_? Joe and _Becky_?

                _Okay, calm down, now you're thinking a little too much like Dorian Gray._ Tom shuddered at the realisation, in that he considered himself better than Joe, and therefore more worthy of Becky than the fellow agent. Of course, this was ridiculous, and he thought of Joe more as a brother than a friend. They knew everything about one another… at least, they _had_.

                "You…" He faltered for a moment, running his hands over his face after drawing them both from his pockets, before sighing and continuing, "you don't need to apologise. There's nothing wrong with that."

                "I really did think you knew. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before."

                He crossed his arms, and furrowed his brow casually. "How long were the two of you together?" Then he quickly added, "I was away for a long time, remember? How would I have known?"

                _I didn't quite mean for that to sound so snappy_, he realised too late, seeing the slightly offended expression on Becky's face as she replied, "We were only together a few months. It wasn't anything serious."

                Tom felt like rolling his eyes at her immature way of brushing it off. It was still a relationship, whatever way she coloured it, and that meant… what _did_ it mean? Tom wasn't sure, and it was starting to give him a headache as he mused it over. Finally, he managed to piece together enough of his consciousness to ask, "What happened? Why did it end?"

                Becky blushed noticeably, the heat rushing to her smooth cheeks and flushing them red for a moment, before she delicately cleared her throat, and muttered something that failed to reach Tom's ears.

                He cocked his head, and threw her a questioning gaze, calling for restatement.

                After a hesitation, Becky mumbled, "It was because of you."

                Tom couldn't stop staring, taking in the sincerity on her features as she regarded him in return, until the intensity of his gaze became too much and she was forced to look away. Was she really telling the truth? If he were to trust to the way she looked at that moment, then the answer would have been yes, no questions asked. But if he listened to his inner sceptic, then the answer was a hesitant no. He wasn't sure what to believe.

                "Because of me?"

                Becky nodded, and moved toward him, causing Tom's heart to skip that predictable beat yet again. He remained frozen to the spot, unable to draw away from her as she approached, silent and graceful, comparing in beauty and elegance to Mina Harker… something he had thought nigh on impossible until that morning, when the fine details of Rebecca Thatcher had come flooding back to him in startling clarity.

                "But…" He fumbled again, something that seemed to be becoming a habit wherever Becky was concerned. "But we never really… I mean-"

                She was standing right in front of him now, and the fact that the brilliant blue eyes had met his own hazel-tinted green oculi cut his speech short as his breath caught in his throat at the sheer sight of them. His throat went dry, almost unbearably, and he stammered, shaking his head and finishing quietly, "We… we never even-"

                This time, it was her hand touching to his mouth that stopped him, and his very heart threatened to burst from his chest as it increased in pace so much he could feel and hear the very drumming throughout his entire skull. He looked down at her, suddenly feeling all words and thoughts fail him as he regarded her truly for the first time since leaving her on that cold dock when he and Huck had left on that fateful mission.

                Becky Thatcher looked back up at him, smiling ever so softly and tenderly, whispering, "I know we didn't, Tom… but did you ever stop to think, that maybe we _should_ have?"

                Her voice made the hairs on the back of his neck and along his arms stand on end, a chill rising up and down his spine as her fingertips played over his lips, and then along the line of his jaw, affectionate and almost teasing. He found his entire being yearning for more, hungry for her to take it that one step further.

                Words still refused to form in his throat, constricted by the urge consuming him and eating away at all rational thought, until he was forced to close his eyes against her gentle touch and give the slightest of nods. 

                Her voice reached his ears again, saying, "Well… then ask yourself one more thing, Tom…" She paused here, waiting for an unbearable moment before she finished, "What's stopping us?"

                Her hand fell from his face, her soft palm grazing against his crossed arms, even as they parted, the left hand reaching to touch her waist, testing her credibility in her proposal. She did not flinch, her whole body still and prepared.

                His eyes rose slowly and somewhat timidly to meet hers, his loose bangs playing across his brow and in his gaze as they regarded one another for what felt like an eternity, moving steadily closer together. He could feel her breath playing across his cheek, and it only served to intensify the pace of his heart.

                Tom bowed his head to her slightly, hesitating, his right arm rising up her own arm as he moved closer, and let their lips meet softly for a moment.

                He felt her body shift to lean into his a little, her right hand carefully gripping his left arm. He let the kiss become firmer – only faintly – and allowed his right hand to come to rest on her neck, playing through her blonde hair and feeling the silky softness of the tresses. She gave a slight sigh, and her hand released itself from his arm, reaching up to run through the loose curls at the back of his head, pulling him closer to her, as if asking him to continue.

                Tom did not disappoint, his kiss becoming more passionate and needful, to which she only reciprocated gladly.

                Even in the embrace of the woman he had fallen in love with upon first sight, Tom still swam in confusion… though he did not know why.

* * *

                Mitesh felt his shift in the communications room slowly drag its way along, crawling like a weary insect, waiting to be put out of its misery. He groaned, rubbing his reluctant eyes, and sighed heavily, thanking his graces that he was alone, and therefore able to give in to the overwhelming boredom and tediousness he felt.  

                Resting back in his sturdy wooden chair, and allowing his eyes to close for just a moment, his mind wandered, drifting off to places he had thought long forgotten, times and situations he would sometimes rather put out of his mind.

                _"Pledge me your allegiance, and you will not be forgotten, Mitesh… I have seen your dedication, and the way it passes by those around you, unnoticed and unappreciated." The man's dark – almost black – eyes bore into Mitesh, as if scanning his soul. "In my employ… this will not be the case." A long pause trickled away here, like water through a crack, slow and torturous as the pristine gentleman allowed his long fingers to play over the smooth cane. "What is your answer?"_

                Mitesh's eyes opened as a noise filtered through the room, and he looked around before registering the sound in his mind. Morse code.

                He scooted closer to the machine, and began to jot down the coded letters. The pencil played slowly but deftly over the paper, and before long, a message appeared before him, making his eyes widen with disbelief.

                _For the eyes of Mitesh. In need of assistance. Reply when able. Wolf._


	5. Progression

**Author's Note:** Before you say anything, I know my updates have been slack as of late, and for that, I am shamefaced and truly sorry. I'll try to break that bad (_terrible_) habit at once, but unfortunately I can't make any promises, cuz of my job. Also, the ban didn't help…  _ And I got major inspiration for _BTLOTM_. Bah, so many excuses, enough of that. This one might be disappointingly short I'm afraid.

**Sethoz:** Yes, I am being shockingly nice to Tom, aren't I? Don't expect that to continue forever though… I can only hold out so long. Thanks for lavishing me with overzealous compliments once again. You really are too kind to me. So much potential for angst! Oops… this counts as a long time, right? *wince*

**RogueSparrow: **I have yet to read the book with Dorian, but I will get around to it… when _Huckleberry Finn_ gives me a break and starts to get really… what's the word? Better? _Tom Sawyer_ was so much more fun and enjoyable. Sigh. Thanks!

**drowchild: **Oh dear… hope you didn't spaz out too much waiting an agonisingly long time for this one. Eeep! Sorry! I dunno what was keeping Tom and Becky myself… *pokes them* What **_was_** keeping you two? *they glare* Aheh… never mind. As for the other predicament… you'll have to wait and see, won't you? ~_^

**Psychozzy:** Aw, puppy! Darn it… now I'm gonna watch any Shane West film and think about puppies… meh, could be worse. Sorry this took so long, and I hope you enjoyed that trip.

**Anacalagon:** All That Jazz! Hehe, sorry. Yes indeed, what _will_ Mina think…?

**angelic katty: **Ah yes… all the betrayal. Won't it be fun when it all comes out in the open?

**Graymoon74:** Aw, thanks for the compliment about the Tom/Becky thing. Couldn't resist now, could I? They were so sweet as kids in the book, so I had to carry it through ^_^. Hehe, as for the rest of the review… **_thanks!_**

But enough of all that twaddle… on with the show, 'eh? Once again, my sincerest apologies for the lateness, and ee gads, look at the time! 

Without further adieu, part 5 of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

                The face stared back at him defiantly in the mirror, and a vain and pleased smile crept onto his handsome, flawless features with a slight satisfied sigh issuing forth from his parted lips. His waves of soft brown, chestnut-tinted hair shone delicately in the light of the room, almost creating a halo around his face, causing him to break into a full grin with the ridiculousness of it. 

                His same dark eyes glanced sidelong at the silent Morse key, and he huffed, glancing into the reflective surface once more, before striding away, and taking to sitting himself into a luxurious leather chair, and swinging one leg over the knee of the other. He took to fingering the pommel of his cane; even as the Morse key skittered into life, hope flickering in Dorian's veiled eyes. A sly smile surfaced, and hovered, before he loudly called, – feeling rather lazy all of a sudden – "James!"

                The lithe man sidled into the room with aplomb, and glided up to the key, taking up a pen and paper at once, elegantly jotting down the letters and making sense of them, without uttering a sound. When the key fell silent, and the lack of sound descended upon the room like a persistent shadow, James walked up to his charge and passed him the note.

                Dorian let his gaze pass over it, and shifted slightly in his chair, not giving anything away. After a moment, he screwed up the note and simply muttered, "Wonderful. Reply at once, James. You know what to say."

                "Yes, sir, of course."

                Dorian stood from the chair, tossing the ball of crumpled paper into the crackling flames in the fireplace as he went, watching it smoulder and curl, until it was falling into ash. His eyes did not waver for a moment, until he snapped himself out of his inexplicable reverie, and made his way from the room, leaving James to send the reply.

                _Not long now…_

* * *

                Joe and Huck stumbled down the road, trying to see Skinner, who had – funnily enough, given his 'condition' – disappeared on them. He was nowhere to be found, and they were starting to – despite their fits of giggles – worry about the man.

                "Skinner?" Huck yelled, earning an irritated shout from an elderly gentleman, who poked his head out of his window, telling the 'youngster' to keep his mouth shut, or he'd come down and shut it for him. Huck grinned, and called out, "Hey, you seen an invisible man?"

                Joe nearly collapsed with mirth, laughter wracking his body, until he just about ran out of oxygen, and had to gasp in a breath, wheezing and almost crying with the force of it. He slapped Huck on the back of the shoulder, sending the smaller man stumbling forward.

                "Hey, watch it!" Huck chuckled, and looked back up at the window, only to see the elderly gentleman gesture rudely, and slam his window closed. "Well…" Huck slurred, "… that wasn't very nice."

                "Ah, forget it. Skinner!" Joe rambled, wobbling on one foot. "What time is it?"

                "How I am s'posed to know? I ain't got a watch." Huck narrowed his eyes, and turned around quickly, falling on his behind in the middle of the dirt road with a squeak of a laugh. "Oops."

                Despite his own father having been a spineless – sometimes, at least – drunk, Huck was rather enjoying his intoxication. He felt Joe grab at his jacket, and heard him say, "What're you doin' on the floor, Huck?"

                Huck giggled like a child, and looked up. "Well, Skinner ain't down _here_."

                "Well, course not. What would he be doin' on the ground?" Joe descended into fits of laughter again.

                They both jumped considerably when a voice erupted from the shadows, only slightly slurred as it said, "Well, you two sure can't hold your drinks, 'eh?"

                "You nearly gave me a heart attack!" Huck stammered, trying to get up from the floor with Joe's useless assistance. The other man nearly toppled onto the smaller American, only to have invisible fingers latch into the back of his jacket. 

                Huck imagined Skinner had rolled his eyes then, and gave a grin, even as Joe was gently moved aside – hiccupping quietly – and a hand grabbed his own shoulder. 

                "Oh, Skinner, it's you."

                "Well, who else is it gonna be?" Skinner retorted, helping Huck to dust off his jacket. Huck gave a yelp, and swatted at the thief.

                "Oi," he fumbled, "don't do that… where are we?" His train of thought quickly changed, the affects of the alcohol dizzying. He wobbled for a moment, even as Joe sniggered with a snort, and felt Skinner catch him, sighing.

                "C'mon, lets get you back to the Nautilus and a spare bed. Maybe some coffee… if Sawyer sees you two like this, he'll _kill_ me."

                "If he can find you." Huck grinned cheekily, and Joe burst into raucous laughter, throwing back his head. The elderly gentleman bellowed out of his window again, and Skinner retorted with some rather imaginative cuss words. Huck was only humoured more when he saw that the complaining local looked around in shock at the voice without an origin.

                The man quickly disappeared back into his house, and Huck and Joe grinned, using Skinner as a kind of support to make their way back to the Nautilus. 

* * *

                As the green eyes opened slowly, a sluggish sigh filled his lungs and left him again, steadily making his chest rise and fall, which was when he became aware of the hand draped over his bare torso. He furrowed his brow slightly, still groggy from sleep, and glanced to his left, seeing the beautiful slumbering face of Becky Thatcher, peaceful and untroubled… just how he remembered her before Huck had 'died'. He smiled wanly, and reached down with his left hand – which had been positioned above Becky's head – and stroked a soft lock of her blonde hair from her face, causing her to stir slightly.

                Her blue eyes fluttered open, and upon seeing his face smiling at her, she returned the gesture, sliding closer to him a little, and resting her head on his shoulder, muttering, "What time is it?"

                Tom cast his gaze over to the other side of his bed, and saw the clock there, and read its display. "A little after eight."

                Becky laughed slightly, and it caused a slight shiver to run over Tom's chest as her breath played over his skin, even as she said, "Late, for me. But it's just too comfortable to move right now."

                Tom smiled; broader, and let his fingers play repeatedly through her hair as he sighed again. He hadn't realised how long he had been yearning for just what had happened, the intimacy between Becky and him… it just felt right. It felt like it should have happened before, but they had just been putting it off, pretending it _shouldn't_ happen. But now he thought about it… it was a little awkward. Here he was, part of something that made a difference, part of the _League of Extraordinary Gentlemen_, an elite team of outcasts and misfits who could really make a difference… and now he and Becky had admitted their attraction and feelings towards one another. It felt right, but at the same time, it felt confusingly wrong. His brow furrowed, and a slight frown marred his youthful face.

                Becky glanced up at him, turning her head and rolling over onto her front a little, her locks playing around her face gently and attractively, as she asked, "Is anything wrong, Tom?" She had seen his expression, clearly.

                Tom looked down at her, and forced a smile onto his face, resolving to give the matter serious thought later on. "No, everything's fine," he told her, running his fingers on his right hand affectionately across her cheek. She closed her eyes, and leaned into his touch. "Everything's perfect."

                Becky smiled, though he could see in her eyes when they opened again that she was less than thoroughly convinced, though she would no doubt let the matter drop so long as he kept up the act. Tom was thankful for that, and slowly started to slip away from her. She did not protest, knew that now they were both awake, there was no point staying in bed.

                Becky removed herself from the covers, and the two silently dressed themselves. When Tom was in the middle of slipping his shirt on, after fastening his pants, he felt the hand on his shoulder. He turned, seeing Becky behind him. She smiled, and leaned up to kiss him. He returned the kiss, and then threw her an inquiring look, even as she ran her hand over his waist. She slowly started to button his shirt for him, her eyes fixed on her task, even as Tom stared down at her, taking in the fine details of her face. 

                When she had buttoned the shirt up to his chest, she raised her blue eyes to meet his gaze, before silently turning around, presenting Tom with the unwelcome challenge of returning the favour. Tom frowned slightly, before throwing caution to the wind. Though, in truth, he had never before been asked to _fasten_ a corset… he thought he might as well make the effort; it was favourable to admitting to Becky that he couldn't help. 

                But he couldn't stop the thought that bubbled in his mind; _Just how do women dress alone in the morning?_

* * *

                Becky couldn't stop the giggle that escaped her when she and Tom pushed into the dining room to be greeted by a most humorous sight. There, on one side of the table, sat a rather dishevelled – and _clearly_ hung over – Joe Harper, and Huckleberry Finn. The former had his arms crossed on the tabletop, and his forehead leaned down on them. The latter was nursing a mug of coffee; his hands wrapped around the cup firmly, as if letting go would mean failure; admitting defeat. His eyes stared down at it, clear bags underneath them. He looked half asleep, not to mention _very_ much in the grips of a bad headache. Food was set out along the table's grand length, but the two agents had not touched it, clearly, whereas the other occupant was helping himself.

                Sitting opposite the hung over Americans was Rodney Skinner, now slipping another round of toast as well as some eggs onto his plate, when he noticed the arrival of Becky and Tom, greeting them with a chipper, "Mornin'!"

                "Hey, Skinner," Tom returned, and walked to the table, seating himself beside the invisible man, who had clearly made the effort to conceal his… 'condition'. He was clothed in his leather jacket and his trilby was set on the table beside his cup of what looked to be coffee. His face had been painted with a white substance, and he wore pince-nez glasses on the bridge of his nose, covering the voids where his eyes had once been. It still fascinated Becky, but she tried not to think about it as she sat down gracefully beside Tom, thinking just how comfortably he had fastened her clothing for her.

                _Snap out of it, Becky… just because you've wanted him for years, it doesn't mean everything he does is perfect. _She tried to convince herself, but even as she glanced to her right, seeing him made her tingle. She was thankful for the fact that she had chosen to sit… her knees were feeling rather weak, and she doubted they would have held her up. "So," she began, in the attempt to concentrate on something fresh, "did you boys enjoy your evening?" She smiled; couldn't help it.

                Tom grinned broadly, and offered Becky a drink, to which she acknowledged with an affirming nod and a smile. Joe glanced up from his crossed arms, looking thoroughly… well, awful, to put it mildly. He groaned, before letting his head drop forward again with a solid 'thud'. Huck glanced to him, furrowing his brow, before looking to Becky again… and he paused, taking in the look of the two newest arrivals, before a hint of a smile touched his handsome young face.

                _He knows_, Becky thought, and felt the slight blush in her cheeks. _I wonder what Joe will think…_

* * *

                Mitesh glanced about him, thoroughly concerned about being discovered. The last message had come through, and it told him to only reply if it were important or an emergency. He knew what to do now… the last message had been detailed enough to give him instruction enough to fulfil his task without further query. The Wolf – as he had decided to call him – was most vehement. It was all to be carefully executed, lest the plan fail.

                Mitesh despised failure, knew the possible punishments for it. The Wolf would be most displeased should his plans fall through, and Mitesh did not wish to see the outcome of such an unwelcome event. So it was that he turned his attention back on his task, fingers working deftly at the equipment he was using. He had already passed along the message to those few he knew he could trust, thankfully some of the largest and strongest of the crew… he would most definitely need _their_ assistance. He tried not to think what Nemo would do if he discovered the treachery slowly taking shape under his very nose on his precious Nautilus.

                Mitesh rolled his eyes, and got back to work, wondering just what the Americans would do when they lost one of their own…


	6. Not Such A Safe Haven

**Author's Note:** Okay, okay, it took me ages, but the inspiration was long in coming, and I actually had to sit in front of this thing *pokes computer* and force myself to start so I wouldn't lose interest _ which would be bad… very bad. So let's hope the end result is better than what I thought it would come out as o_O And I didn't get this all written in one go either… had major block until I put on the **PoTC** score, and it just flowed… weird.

**angelic katty: **Ah good… I made people laugh! Thanks for the support on that, I'm no comedienne!

**Graymoon74:** Tom, is it? Am I _that_ predictable, dear Graymoon74? Can you see through me _that_ easily? *looks down at self* Aiye! I'm transparent! Hehe, only kidding. But still… what makes you think it's Tom, 'eh? Hate the torture stuff? Pff… liar ~_^

**Sethoz: **Hehe, random quote! Funny though… that part of the movie makes me smile : ) See? Anyway, yeah, thanks for the review, but don't kill me! Remember _Tainted View, Dystopia _and_ Bodyguard_and rethink that option, missy! Cuz I'm nowhere near as bad as you! … Most of the time. Don't look at me like that! Cliffhangers are fun dammit!

**Rogue Sparrow: **I wanna see that comic when it's done, you! I have to see it! Gah, I wish I could draw comics  _ 

**Anacalagon: **Ah yes, cookies for Skinner… of course, gotta do that *gives Skinner cookies* Don't eat them all at once, Rodney, you'll be sick.

Without further delay, and my sincerest apologies for the disgusting wait I put you through… here is Chapter 6 of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

                The classical music in the room only served to relax him further, safe in the knowledge that everything was proceeding as he had planned… not exactly, considering his 'death' had never been in his mind to begin with. That had been rather unexpected, and not at all pleasant. No matter… it would be inconsequential soon enough. He would have what was his… he knew she had it… he knew _her_, after all. They _had_ been lovers once, and if nothing else, he felt he had gotten to know her for what she was… a little too predictable.

                James was off somewhere, doing… something. Possibly fetching him another brandy. He was too caught up in the music to remember, and frankly, he didn't care. As long as the man was doing his job – which he always did, something that made Dorian happy at least – then it was of no concern to the relaxing gentleman. He hummed along quietly with the music, even as James strode in with a small tray, setting a glass down beside Dorian, whose eyes were closed. 

                "Sir, you have a message from your aide aboard the Nautilus. He claims that everything is in place, and he will be moving when he receives word from you."

                Dorian sighed dramatically, and opened his dark eyes, throwing a look of boredom to James, before saying drolly, "Very well. Reply, telling him to proceed. About time we had some excitement around here." He smiled slyly, a cunning light in his eyes. James nodded his head once in acknowledgement, probably only smiling because he thought he had to, and sauntered casually from the room, an air of obedience making him the only bearable aide to have around. 

                Once the man was gone, Dorian gave himself in to the music once again, and was lost with his thoughts.

* * *

                The people aboard the Nautilus barely seemed to notice the time as it 'flew' past, escaping them and stealing away some of their day surprisingly quickly. Not much happened for them to preoccupy theirselves with, but as the day was ticked away by the clocks on the vessel, the people gradually realised it was drawing in on the later half of the afternoon. 

                Huckleberry Finn was one such person, walking the halls, occasionally lightly scuffing the toe of his boot along the ground, and trying not to make any marks. He was humming lightly to himself, trying to pass the time… he knew it was passing, but it seemed – to him – to be dragging. He had nothing to do. All of the members of the _League_ were off doing other, important – he guessed – things… _League_ business no doubt. Joe was sleeping off his hangover… had been all day since breakfast, where he had nearly vomited. Huck screwed up his face at the memory, remembering it rather vividly. And then there was Tom and Becky… whom he hadn't seen most of the day, because they were spending their time together. It was something he had picked up on at breakfast; their proximity and comfort with such. 

                There was no doubt in Huck's mind as to _why_ this was occurring. Even as children, Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher had been attracted, but too shy and reserved to act upon it. But now that they were mature – Becky at least, he supposed with a smirk – adults, they could see it for themselves that they needn't hide, and had to show what they clearly felt for one another. And it appeared they were. Huck smiled… and then remembered Joe.

                Joe Harper and Becky Thatcher had entered – not too long ago – into a relationship… one that had obviously been doomed to fail from the very beginning, because it was clear to Huck that they had not clicked, as it were. There was a rift, and it was as plain to him as the nose on his face that Becky had not truly felt for Joe… though she did care for him deeply. It just wasn't the same… no one could ever compare to Tom in her mind, and it was written all over her face, though she was probably unaware that Huck could read it so clearly.

                Huck knew he was often underestimated, but so long as people got the right impression in the end, that was all that mattered to him. People often perceived him as 'that guy down the street, kinda bungling and shy'. He laughed quietly, finding himself once again outside of his cabin. Huck sighed, realising he had walked around the entire deck of the ship, and he hadn't even noticed on the way. He glanced at his small, somewhat dented pocket watch, and then slipped it back into its pouch, knowing the evening was drawing in. He remembered Skinner saying something about showing the other _League_ members the town tonight, and that they would be leaving soon… after dinner.

                Entering his cabin, he wondered how awkward that would be… and if Joe would recognise the emotions on Tom and Becky's faces.

* * *

                Joe Harper rolled off his bed with a large, impressive – and somewhat painful – thud when the knock sounded on his door. He gave a muffled 'ow' into the blanket he had dragged down with him, and raised his thoroughly tousled head out from underneath it, even as he called out, "All right… I'm comin'."

                "Agent Harper… are you all right?" came the soft voice of Dr. Jekyll through the door, though it stayed closed, and Joe _prayed_ he wouldn't open it and see him a tangled heap on the floor. He shook his black curls from his face, and tried to rise, nearly tripping on the blanket, and growling at it in irritation.

                "I'm perfectly fine, thank you, Doctor. I'll… I'll see you-" – he kicked at the blanket, and wobbled dangerously, grabbing the bedpost for balance – "in a minute."

                "Very well." With that, the footsteps signalled the retreat of the friendly man, and Joe let out a sigh of relief, looking down at his feet as they came loose of the blanket.

                "Aha," he muttered triumphantly, and grinned mischievously. At least his headache was gone… that was the intention of the nap… which had lasted for quite a few hours. _Sleep I lost last night_, he realised. He looked around for fresh clothing, and realised he hadn't brought any aboard with him. He grumbled a curse, and then saw something set out on the dresser for him. It was a set of new clothes… his size and colour and style, and he raised a perplexed eyebrow at the oddness of it. "… The hell?"

                Then he grinned again. "Nemo…"

                He certainly appreciated the thought, considering the stench of his other clothes… last night had been a little too frivolous for his somewhat sensitive stomach, and it had decided to revisit the things he had sampled… in reverse. He grimaced at the thought, and quickly went about changing into the fresh, clean-smelling items laid out for him. They were a perfect fit, and he glanced in the mirror at his newly attired self with a satisfied smile.

                "Not bad, Harper… not bad at all." 

                With a sigh, relieved at the lack of hangover he was now suffering from, he made his way to the dining room, only to almost crash into Huck on the way. The shorter man glanced up at him and smiled. "Feelin' better?"

                "Yeah… much, thank _god_," Joe replied, mumbling half of his sentence, a habit he needed to break quickly. He was working on it, but so far it wasn't going to plan. "I've never had a headache like that… I didn't know they existed!"

                Huck laughed, nodding heartily. "Oh yeah… and they come at you with a vengeance. Especially after the kinda thing that happened last night."

                "What happened last night?" Joe's eyes widened in a paranoid manner.

                Huck laughed again, loudly and his eyes were filled with mirth. "Nothing! I'm just messin' with you. You're so easy to prank!"

                Joe rolled his eyes, realising the joke in Huckleberry's words… the other man had always loved to do that, and he knew he should have been getting used to it, but… oh what did it matter? There was never any harm in it. Smiling at Huck, he pushed into the dining room, to find they were the last attendees. 

                And that was when he realised what he had so blatantly missed at breakfast. Tom and Becky were sitting _very_ closely together, and he observed them carefully as he moved to sit, noting their affection in their eyes… aimed towards one another, subtle yet readable to someone as observant as Joe Harper… _Agent_ Joe Harper, for that matter. It was as plain to him as if it had been laid out in writing.

                It had always been about Tom… he had seen it in her blue eyes when they had been together that something in her heart had been lacking, and she had never truly loved him… she had always held a special place for Tom Sawyer… always. No one could ever compete with that, and he knew that now, feeling like a fool.

                An _angry_ fool, nonetheless. 

                Joe had never realised as a child how much he had cared for Becky Thatcher, but as he had grown into his adult years, the affection and admiration he felt for her had come into being, and manifested with a fire that could not be ignored. He had given her everything he could share, and it had clearly not been enough. She had tried to return what he felt, and for a time… it had been beautiful, and they had had the time of their lives… until she seemed to realise what she had been denying herself. It wasn't Joe she wanted, and she was only keeping at bay what she had forever known in her entire being.

                Becky Thatcher was in love with Tom Sawyer.

* * *

                Tom had noticed Joe's mysterious gaze the entire time they had been eating, and it had bothered him more than a little. There was something hidden in it that confused and even _concerned_ him, made him worry that he had angered his long-time friend, whom he had known since… before he could remember. As children, Joe and Tom had been practically inseparable – save for when Huck came into the picture, which was actually quite often now he thought about it – and he was worried. He thought he already knew the reason for the odd looks.

                Becky had told him before their… show of affection, that she and Joe had entered into a short-lived relationship… if you could call it that. The exact amount of time was lost on him, but he knew it was long enough for things to happen, for jealousy to threaten, and it most certainly did. It was showing in his friend's eyes, and Tom's mind was filled with concern. He didn't want anything to come between them, not now… not when he had only just recovered so much of what he had thought lost. The thought was unbearable.

                Becky was in her cabin, and in his mind he had an image of her brushing her beautiful blonde hair, even as he cleaned one of his Colt six-shooters, a crooked smile slipping onto his young face and lingering for a moment. He sat in wan candlelight, which flickered for a moment, as if caught in a slight breeze, though nothing drifted into the confines of his room, and for a moment… the keen eyes narrowed, glancing here and there for anything that lurked. He snapped shut the chamber on the pistol, and cocked back the hammer.

                Which was when a knock on his door nearly made him pull the trigger. He froze just in time to stop the shot, and breathed out a sigh of relief when Huck's voice sounded; "Can I come in?"

                 Tom hesitated for a moment; though if someone were to ask him why, the reply would have been nonexistent… he didn't know why. "Sure," he called out, and a second or two later, the door opened and Huckleberry Finn stepped in. He closed the door behind him, and Tom watched the candles, noticing their reluctance to flicker like before. His brow furrowed suspiciously. A chill ran over his spine, making him shiver ever so slightly.

                Huck looked as though he had something on his mind, even as he walked over to where Tom sat, and took up the opposite stool, the low table between them serving as a short barrier almost. Tom's eyes watched the other American, and noted his tension in his body. There was a brief sigh, and Huck's voice was filled with curiousity and concern when he finally spoke; "Tom… after… after what happened, what did you do?"

                _I was hoping he wouldn't ask that._ Tom hung his head for a moment, guilt surging through him. He felt terrible for not knowing his friend had been alive all the time he had been out playing the hero. "I… I notified the Service, and… and sent word back home."

                Huck nodded slowly, his brown eyes wandering aimlessly as if trying to find some object to lock onto, something that would provide some pitiful semblance of reason for his friend's shameful behaviour… at least how Tom saw it. "I see… and… you went after him?"

                The way Huck spoke the word 'him' sent a shiver down Tom's spine again, and he glanced to the venomous expression on the other man's face, so filled with spite and hatred that he actually found himself intimidated for a moment. His eyes narrowed pensively, and then he nodded. "Yeah… I couldn't let him get away with what he did to you."

                "_Almost_ did."

                Tom shook his head, still in disbelief as to the young man sitting opposite him, tangibly. He kept expecting the image of Huck to fade away, swirl into nothingness and the shadows, and for him to wake up realising this was all a dream, too good to be true. But it didn't happen. This was real.

                His voice was distant when he spoke, his eyes locked on his best friend even as he said, "You died."

                "No…" Huck stared right back. For a few tense seconds, nothing happened. Tom had the dreadful feeling the chocolate brown eyes were accusing him of some awful treachery. In those eyes, he thought he saw the claim 'you should have known I was alive', but he tried to tell himself his imagination was being too colourful.

                Then Huckleberry's hand rose from his lap, and pulled down on the loose, unbuttoned fabric of his off-white shirt, revealing an ugly scar on his chest, from where the bullet had torn into him. "… I _almost_ died."

                Tom closed his eyes, head hanging again, and he reached forward with his occupied hand and laid the weapon he was holding on the surface of the table with a hollow noise. It perfectly represented how he was feeling inside… hollow, empty and useless. He should have properly _checked_ Huck for any signs of life after the terrible incident in which Moriarty – the bastard; Tom's heart swelled with relief at knowing he was dead – had shot his partner, and killed – no, _nearly_ killed – him. That had been the worst day in Tom's life… that and the death of his mentor, Allan Quatermain. 

                "Huck… I'm so sorry… I should have known. I should have done something, but I didn't. I just panicked… seeing you lying there nearly tore me apart… thinking you were dead, and that I would have to carry on without the best friend I've ever had."

                His head did not rise as he spoke, and his words were laced with sincerity and overwhelming guilt at his past actions. He could feel Huck's gaze on him, even as the reply drifted to his ears; "Tom… I just want to know why. That's all. I don't blame you… I just want to know _why_."

                "Why I left so quickly?" Tom looked up to Huck, seeing the burning desire for the answer in his friend's gaze.

                Huck nodded.

                "Because…" Tom lingered on the reason for a moment, trying to fathom it for himself for a long time before he spoke, not wishing to confuse the issue or deliver a false truth. "… Because… I was terrified. I was terrified that I had lost one of the best things in my life, and if I waited there any longer, I would fail. I couldn't bear that after losing my partner… my best friend. After losing _you_." He sighed heavily. "At least… I _thought_ I had. I wish I had just checked."

                "No," Huck said then, shocking Tom and causing their eyes to lock at once, the latter's in confusion. "No, I'm glad you left when you did. If you hadn't have caught up with that son of a bitch, then we would be at war _right_ now… we might even all be dead. I'm relieved you had the sense to fulfil a duty… I don't know if I could've done that after what you must have been goin' through."

                Tom shook his head swiftly, his blonde locks cast into disarray. "No… what I did was awful. I left you there, and you could have _died_… actually _died_ because I didn't check. If I had found out later on that my staying and paying closer attention would have kept you alive, I wouldn't have been able to live with that."

                "But you didn't have to, Tom," Huck said with his trademark sly smirk, something Tom always found disarming and oddly comforting. "You didn't have to, 'cause the Service sent some guys in there right away, and they found me… realised I was alive. And here I am today… fit as can be, and fightin' again… well, as good as. There's nothin' to be guilty about, because I don't _blame_ you for anything, and I don't _want_ any guilt. I just wanted to know why, that's all, and I feel better for it."

                Tom felt a little of the remorseful weight lifted from his shoulders, and sighed lightly, looking Huck in the eye again, still frowning as he admitted, "I missed you, Huck… and I'm glad you're back. I really am."

                "I know, Tom… I know."

* * *

                The brush ran through her loose curls of soft blonde hair rhythmically as she hummed a light, musical melody to herself almost subconsciously, her eyes gazing in her mirror, shining with a kind of contentment she hadn't felt for a long time. Not since before her father's illness… but she tried not to let that bother her, though she wished he would get better soon. It was starting to hurt, knowing he was hovering somewhere uncomfortably in the middle of health and sickness, and each day brought a new risk, of infection or new bacteria or something of the like. But her father was a strong man, always had been, and she _knew_ in her heart that he would recover.

                He had known what had happened with Tom Sawyer and the others, and had told her to go and be with them for as long as she chose to. Becky loved her father dearly… with all of her heart, and would have hated to disappoint him in any way… so she had obeyed. But as she sat looking in the mirror at herself, she was almost ashamed to admit she was… happy. It was just that she felt so much more at ease now she and Tom had come to grips with the feelings that had been brewing since childhood. 

                She heard a noise outside of her door, and froze in the motion of brushing her hair, laying down the item slowly and reaching for a weapon she didn't have. She uttered a curse, and called out, "Tom?"

                Nothing.

                "Huck, is that you?"

                … Nothing.

                "… Joe? Stop messing around… you know I don't like your pranks."

                Again… an eerie, unresponsive nothing lingered outside the door… and then she saw it. There was a flickering of shadow under the frame that made her heart almost leap into her throat with fright. In her haste to defend herself from the potential threat, she grabbed up anything at hand… a letter opener from the desk, though she had no idea why it was even there. Her heart started to race, and she slowly raised herself up from her desk, where she had been brushing her hair, stepping carefully towards the door.

                "Who's there?" she called to the unresponsive shadow on the other side, someone who obviously did not have the most innocent of intentions at heart. They were being frighteningly secretive and stealthy, but she had trained herself to watch for the signs, and she could see them clearly under the doorway. 

                Again, no answer was given to her, and she reached foolishly for the handle, moments before it flew open at her, and she couldn't stop the shriek that erupted from her in shock, as three of the crew rushed into her room… _at_ her, with clear, burning intent in their dark eyes. Becky almost dropped her makeshift weapon, before she gathered enough of her faculties to slash at her would-be attackers, catching one of them on the skin of their exposed arm. The small blade was jarred from her grip with the effort, but she managed to take a surprising gash out of the man's skin, and he growled in anger, lunging for her.

                She tried to leap out of the way, only to practically fall into the arms of one of the others. She began kicking and thrashing wildly, screaming out for help from any of the others close by… then she remembered… the _League_ were gone. 

                _How could they have left?!_ Becky tried to scream again, but a hand went over her mouth, which didn't – however – stop her from ramming her arm backwards and into the face of the man. He gave a groan, and released her quickly. She was swiftly grabbed by the third, and largest figure, who gripped her wrist so tightly she thought it was going to break. She squeaked slightly, and gasped, moving to kick out at him, stunned when he backhanded her across the face.

                Then he started to unceremoniously drag her from the room, so viciously that the air was sucked out of her in shock, and it was a while before her next cry for help.

* * *

                "Did you hear that?"

                "Hear what?"

                Tom shot up from his seat instantly. "_That_!" The scream travelled to his ears with shocking crystal clarity, and his Colt pistols were in his hands within seconds, even as he started towards the door. Huck was right behind him, pulling his own guns from his holsters near the rear of his belt from behind him, with a flourish, cocking back the hammers in preparation.

                "I heard _that_ all right… that sounded like Becky."

                "The only other woman on this ship is Mina Harker… and she doesn't scream as a general rule… plus she's not here."

                "She's not _here_?"

                "The _League_ went with Skinner. They didn't have a choice with him ranting about St. Petersburg."

                Huck and Tom talked as they jogged, all conversation forgotten however when gunfire tore up the corridor near to them when they were about to round a corner at a T-junction of sorts. Huck threw himself forward in a roll down low at the ground, and cleared the distance without injury, coming up as a mirrored image of Tom, whose back was flat against the wall, for cover. Huck crouched down low, exchanging a silent, signalling glance in his partner's direction. A nod passed between them, and then they acted.

                In unison, the two Secret Service agents emerged from their cover, six-shooters blazing in alternate shots from the barrels, the weapons aimed precisely at the treacherous crew who were up to – clearly – no good… and that 'no good' involved Becky Thatcher… something Tom would not abide. Huck was lower than Tom, to confuse their opponents, whereas the blonde American stayed up straight and tall, firing accurately into the enemy position of 'ambush'.

                The enemies fell swiftly under the precise fire from the American agents, and before long, their way was clear. They leapt spryly over the still bodies of the crewmen, and Tom had the horrible feeling he would be explaining all of this to Nemo later on… not that he knew what was going on, exactly, he just knew it wasn't good.

                Becky's next scream cut short, and Tom felt his heart skip a huge beat, almost stealing his awareness from him for a horrible moment. He sped up, and up ahead was a room that he thought he recognised as the Nautiloid control point. It wasn't the exact launching point for the exploration pod, but it was the room where the release was controlled.

                Tom growled, and pressed on faster, Huck right behind him, but the two stopped in calculated caution before bursting into the room. But their planning was abrupt, as a shot ripped into the wall near to Huck, and the two turned, letting off simultaneous shots at the man behind them. Their distraction was their failing.

                Strong hands grabbed Tom by the hair and left arm, and he was torn backwards, thrown to the floor, where he rolled, wincing and letting out a sharp cry of surprise more than pain. Huck wasn't far behind, and he nearly collided with the first American. Tom cast his eyes about swiftly, seeing the unconscious form of Becky Thatcher over one man's shoulder. 

                "Becky!" he cried out, and moved to rise, only to be greeted by a boot to the shoulder, slamming him back and against a table. He yelped, and Huck launched himself at the offender, guns dropped in the previous attack on him. They – along with Tom's – were on the floor in disarray, out of reach.

                Tom's face twisted into a grimace with the growl he let out, and he threw himself readily at the other man in the room, knocking his legs out from under him and sending them both crashing to the ground. Tom punched the man in the face, twice, and saw his nose bleed from the blows. There was a fourth man in the room, who was using the controls to ready the Nautiloid. But with the current distraction, it was going to be difficult to stop the other man. He needed a weapon for range, and he grabbed at one; one of his own he realised, and after a third punch at the man he was pinning, twisted his upper body to take a shot at the fourth figure. He needed to be careful… the one with Becky over his shoulder was close, and he would never be able to live with himself if he so much as grazed her in any way.

                Before he could let off the shot, the hand from the large man Huck had thrown himself at latched around his arm and wrenched it, causing him to drop the gun and wince with a gasp. The man released his arm, and backhanded him across the face, sending him to the floor.

                Moments later, Tom was being picked up by his throat, and _lifted_ from the ground. When he kicked out at the man, he made solid contact, but a simply nonplussed grunt was his response, even as he realised the sheer size and power in the man. He was bordering on seven feet, if Tom had to guess, and gripped tightly in his other large hand was Huck, also around the neck. 

                The man at the controls glanced in a bored manner over his shoulder, and nodded his head at the large gripping man, who smirked enthusiastically. Tom kicked out again, grabbing at the man's arm and having no success, even as he felt himself pulled inward slightly, the toes of his boots just scraping the ground.

                Then he was thrown backwards with amazing force, Huck too he realised, moments before he felt his back collide with a blunt edge, which caused his entire body to ache and sting. The force carried him _into_ the table itself and _over_ it, even as it buckled, splintering, and he was sent crashing to the floor, with papers, documents, blueprints and navigation devices scattering all around, not to mention parts of the table itself. He rolled across the floor, and then stopped, laying on his front, in pain. 

                Huck had slammed back-first into the wall, collapsing to the floor on his side, groaning loudly and trying to move, before falling still, his breathing evident but showing his unconsciousness. Tom wasn't far off, but his eyes hovered half-open, even as the large man approached almost lazily, intrigued that the American was still conscious. 

                Tom tried to raise his head, finding he couldn't, the shock of the collision with the table, combined with the throbbing ache in his back throwing his coordination out of alignment. The man solved his problem for him by taking a rough hold on his hair after crouching down, and yanking up. Tom let out a hiss, and heard the raspy laugh.

                "There… it's ready. Come on… they'll be back soon. Leave them."

                "But-"

                "Be quiet and hurry! Do you want to keep Wolf waiting?"

                Though his hearing was fading as his consciousness failed him, Tom made out the words, trying to commit them to memory, even as the large man shrugged, and then rammed Tom's head down to the solid flooring, slamming the side of his skull against the hard surface, and casting him into complete and utter nothingness.


	7. Scene of The Crime

**Author's Note:** Wow! Got this written all in one sitting after watching the movie, in about an hour! WOOHOO! Go me… okay, enough fishing for approval, because that's… sneaky, and juvenile. But I am proud of myself for that. Not much happens in this chapter, except for a revelation as to what happens to one character we didn't see the fate of last time, and the discovery… but you shall see, shan't you? Mwahahaha. 

**angelic katty: **Worth the wait? Good to know. Aide aboard the Nautilus? *is confused* 

**Melanie: **Don't worry, she's not gone for good. As for what Mina will do, you'll find out soon enough.

**Sethoz: **Ah, split personalities, aren't they fun? *Jekyll shakes head, but in mirror, Hyde is nodding* ^_^ Six chapters without Tom angst! I don't know how I did it, but I did! It's gotta be some kind of record for me. Bah! Admit it, you liked Joe all along, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU? Okay… calm now. Hehe – regarding the quote that is.

**Capt. Cow:** Aw, thanks for that. I hope this one didn't take too long for you.

**drowchild: **Can I get up now? Super evil nasty cliffhanger? Me? … Yeah, okay then.

**Graymoon74:** You should have known I couldn't resist for long, GM. I'm gonna say GM cuz it's easier. Well it wouldn't have been fair if they beat up Tom and just shooed Huck away, would it? Gotta share ~_^ I know you seem to love all my fics, and I really appreciate you giving them your attention. Yup… poor Joe. Now, now, GM, I think you're letting your imagination run away with you a little there ^_^ Take it down a notch; there are young people present. Thanks for saying I rule. Very (too) kind of you.

**Leigh S. Durron:** I can and did leave you hanging like that, lol. Hope I didn't keep you waiting unbearably long though. Thanks.

Without any further ado or delay… Chapter 7 of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

                Joe Harper had heard the gunshots and been running in their direction when some people had come around the corner ahead of him. His eyes widened, especially when one was revealed to be carrying Becky Thatcher over their shoulder, slumped and unconscious, completely at their mercy… and in Joe's eyes, in need of saving. 

                Grimacing, he blocked the way – putting on a brave face – and declared, "You're not goin' anywhere. Not with her, you're not."

                "Out of our way," said the largest member of the small handful of – apparently – mutinous crewmen. "We do not have time for nuisances like you."

                _Nuisance?_ Joe thought, offended, and tried not to show it. He narrowed his eyes, and suddenly realised the other two Special Agents were _not_ on the scene as they should have been. "What'd you do to Tom and Huck?"

                The large man pressed forward, even as he audibly growled in a vicious manner, saying, "Nothing you won't experience for yourself if you do not step _aside_ and let us pass."

                "I won't and you know it." Joe squared his shoulders, only to be slammed in the jaw by a large fist, one that succeeded in ramming him down and to his knees, driving his face into a grimace, even as he hissed from the shock, stars and colours swimming and dancing madly behind his eyelids, prominent in his field of vision. "Ow…" he mumbled, and gave a yell when the boot flipped him over onto his back with enough force to knock the wind out of him before he could act against it. His ribs burned madly, even as the large man loomed over him, scoffing with feigned disappointment.

                "Just as unchallenging as the others… I was under the impression these Americans were spies… and that spies knew how to put up a fight."

                _Yeah, but **look** at yourself! You're built like a –_

                His musings were cut short when the foot hit him across the face, robbing him of his consciousness and casting him mercifully into utter darkness, everything slipping away even as he relaxed entirely, laying on his back in the middle of the corridor.

* * *

                Mina's mind was blissfully blank as they headed back to the Nautilus after visiting some of St. Petersburg's more tasteful establishments, where Rodney Skinner had tried – in vain – to intoxicate her. She had tried to inform him that, being a vampire, she could not and would not fall under the effects of alcohol or anything similar. He would not accept it, and was now more than a little tipsy himself, chatting eagerly with Dr. Jekyll about something that she could not comprehend… it involved a knife, an alleyway, and someone by the name of Charlie. She rolled her eyes, and quickened her pace to match that of Captain Nemo at the forefront of the procession.

                "Mrs. Harker," he greeted her politely. "I now understand why Agent Sawyer did not wish to accompany us this evening."

                "Oh?" she endeavoured to inquire, her voice soft and lulling in the cool night air, the lack of breeze aiding in her hearing picking out every little sound around them, highly tuned and precise. She was aware of every small animal in a wide perimeter, and when she cast her blue gaze around, she sometimes saw the flash of feral eyes glimpsing at them from beneath bushes and under porches, even as they neared the river itself.

                "It is rather… uncivilised at times," Nemo explained, one hand on the ornamental hilt of his gleaming sword, the pommel shining in the wan light provided by the occasional lamp from houses or watch posts on their journey.

                "How do you mean?" she pressed, glancing to meet his dark, soulful gaze with her own, tilting her head just slightly in an inquiring gesture of curiousity.

                "Some of the individuals we encountered were most unpleasant, and it is a marvel that people such as Agents Sawyer, Finn and Harper, as well as Miss Thatcher, amounted to anything given their surroundings upon being raised."

                To Mina, Nemo's cynical outlook was a little more than harsh on that particular evening, and she furrowed her brow, deciding to let it drop for what it seemed to be… a bad temper, and a bad experience in an – apparently – uncivilised town that he did not feel comfortable in. No doubt it was accounted for by his own nationality, and the unwelcoming looks some of the locals had offered him on sight. To be perfectly honest, that had angered Mina Harker as well… their close-minded approach to the regal Indian man was less than acceptable, but without wanting to cause any disturbance, what could she have done?

                As they came up on the Nautilus, and the only sound descended into that of Skinner's tipsy ramblings, Nemo tensed, and froze in his approach. Skinner ran into the back of Mina as she too – instinctively – halted beside the captain, and she tried to ignore the intentional brushing of her backside as she asked Nemo, "What's wrong?"

                "Something is very wrong," was his quiet, unnerving reply, and Jekyll came up alongside Mina, slapping Skinner's hand as it reached for the woman's rear once more.

                "What exactly is it?"

                Then Mina heard it… and felt the chill along her spine as the familiar creaking and groaning from within the Nautilus could be heard. "The exploration pod," she breathed in disbelief, and as one, the doctor, the captain and the vampire surged forward, running briskly along the dirt road, with the thief stumbling along behind in intoxicated confusion, yelling out, "Wait for me! What's the rush?"

                Mina ignored the man, even as she heard him almost topple over a jutting rock, and practically flew up the ramp into the body of the ship, with Nemo and Jekyll running briskly alongside her. The crew were in disarray as to the noise as well, she noticed, and when they pushed beyond the cargo hold, Jekyll nearly fell over a body. 

                Nemo cursed something in his native tongue, and stormed off up the corridors to try and find out what was going on. He started barking commands and queries of all the conscious crew he came across, and very few came up with anything satisfactory. In English, he exclaimed, "Tend to the wounded!"

                They were off again, Jekyll glancing back over his shoulder with a worried expression at the limp body of one of Nemo's men, and Skinner stumbled along behind them, grumbling and panting, cursing under his breath about unnecessary exertion. Mina rolled her eyes, and before long, they had come to the room that Nemo had been – it seemed – heading for all along. The Nautiloid's launching hatch. It was locked tight, and he yelled in frustration, looking through the clear portal in the middle of the iron door to see the small pod work its way out.

                He grabbed a nearby man, and growled at him, "Start tracking the Nautiloid at once! Someone is stealing it, and they must be apprehended at once."

                The crewman nodded, and hurried off to fulfil his Captain's command. Mina watched him go, and then caught something on the air… a smell she knew all too well, and one that made a feral growl try to force its way up out of her throat into audible being. She pushed it down, and closed her eyes, shuddering slightly. Jekyll was alert and attentive, and said, "Mrs. Harker, is something wrong?"

                "Yes," she gasped. "I can smell blood…"

                "Oh god," Jekyll muttered in dismay, and took off with Nemo down the corridor, before Mina pushed past them, following her senses to the origin of the haunting smell. It brought up painful memories for her, times that she would have rather forgotten, only to have them attack her at the least welcome moment… such as now.

                When they turned their third corner, Mina halted at once, body tense, and let Jekyll drop to his knees at Joe Harper's side. He was clearly unconscious; his eyes closed in what would have appeared a peaceful – if not misplaced – sleep were it not for the blood that had spilt from his nose. Mina swallowed, throat suddenly dry and parched due to unnatural thirst, and she closed her eyes, whispering, "Excuse me," even as she carefully stepped around the fallen agent, and pushed her way on, realising the smell drifted from that direction as well. "Captain… I think our other Americans may have fallen victim to tragic circumstance also… Agent Harper's is not the only blood I can smell."

                "Lead the way, Mrs. Harker," Nemo instructed cautiously, and Mina nodded, before taking off at a swift pace, her skirts and coat flowing out behind her like the wings of the bats she used for urgent flight or hunting. Her eyes flashed red momentarily, and she would be forever glad no one had seen it… the enticing smell of young blood drove her mad with a fiery hunger, and she wished for nothing more – deep down in the monstrous part of her turned self – to drive her fangs into those who had been attacked, to draw the youth and warmth from their veins and satisfy her urges.

                Fighting it down as best she could, something she had taught herself strictly over the years, she came to the open door of the Nautiloid control room, where the machine was unlocked and prepared for launch, before anyone could depart in the vessel. She hesitated in the doorway, and then forced herself to step inside, with the others right behind her. Jekyll had remained behind with Joe Harper to tend to him, check he was all right.

                But as soon as her eyes focused on the situation, she wished he had not; that he was right by her side at that moment, on hand to help. The sight was enough to draw a gasp of burning worry from her. Documents were in disarray on the floor, pens and bottles of ink smashed sporadically, with smatterings of the liquid marring the ground underfoot. One of the large planning tables in the room had been toppled and subsequently shattered by an unexpected, and seemingly forceful impact. She followed the trail of carnage, to find two motionless bodies.

                The first was Huckleberry Finn, laying prone on his side, seemingly unharmed but unaware nevertheless, and obviously in need of checking for injury.

                And the second was the one that caused her to charge to their side, his blonde hair cast all over his youthful, handsome face, his eyes closed in forced unconsciousness, laying on his stomach on the hard floor, with papers and other items all around him. From the position of his body, she devised he had been the one to collide with the sturdy table, and she immediately realised he could be seriously injured, after having shattered the furniture so thoroughly and forcefully. She knelt at his side, and brushed some of the hair from his peaceful-looking face, and moved to roll him over, before realising her stomach churned with otherworldly hunger. 

                Touching her now bare hand to the floor, near his temple, she brought it away crimson with blood… it looked so inviting, but the dilemma tore her from her fantasies of tasting it. There was a time and a place for unintentional urges, and this most certainly was not either. Tom Sawyer was wounded, and she called to the others, "I need help."

                Nemo moved to her side, even as Skinner stood shocked in the doorway, trying to take it all in. "What on Earth…" he was mumbling, shaking his head in disbelief, apparently.

                "Skinner!" she snapped fiercely. "Do not just stand there; fetch Dr. Jekyll at once!"

                He nodded swiftly and turned on his heel to do just that, even as the man rushed in the door, having heard her voice. "What is-" He cut himself short, and dashed to assist at once, seeing the situation.

                "Is Agent Finn wounded?" he asked, crouching to one knee beside Mina, opposite Nemo. The warm, brown eyes floated to the other still body for a moment, before glancing back to his fellow _League_ members.

                "Not that I could see," Mina responded.

                Jekyll looked to Skinner immediately. "Check on Huckleberry," he instructed calmly but coolly, and the thief did not hesitate to obey. Despite always being ordered around, he did not waste time when he knew the stakes.

                "Tom, however," Mina began in a dangerous tone of voice, laced with concern, "is another matter." She brought her hand back up to show them, coated at the tips with the young man's blood. 

                "We need to roll him over so I can see the injury." Jekyll placed his hands carefully but in calculated positions on certain parts of the American's body, instructing the others to do the same where he showed them, and them gave them a verbal and physical cue to roll as one. They succeeded in turning him face up, seeing the motion of his breathing as his chest rose and fell, seemingly rhythmic. 

                That was not their concern; clearly, as the wound on Tom Sawyer's right temple became apparent. It was coated in blood, thick, scarlet liquid that indicated a sharp, blunt blow, probably the cause for his unconsciousness in the first place. From laying on the ground, it had mostly spread around near the cut close to his hairline, and soaked onto the floor, but it had also succeeded in actually matting the hair close to the wound. Though he did not appear overly pale, Mina knew the loss of blood would only get worse if not tended to.

                "Captain, we need assistance in taking the three of them to the infirmary. They need to be checked thoroughly, and Agent Sawyer's head wound needs treatment. He will also need testing for a concussion, which, from the looks of this, could very well be the case." Jekyll stared right at his addressee as he spoke, and the other man nodded in agreement, standing to call for aid.

                Mina glanced down at Tom's unconscious form, and noticed the lack of female presence in the room… save for herself.

                "Becky Thatcher…" she muttered under her breath.

                "Mrs. Harker?"

                "They took Becky Thatcher…"


	8. A Wolf At The Door

**Author's Note:** I have one thing to say… I **_despise_** writer's block… _  Growl…

**LotRseer3350:** Ugh… slow update. Sorry!

**Graymoon74:** Oh dear… think I scared GM, lol. It's true though… people always seem to get wounded in that area. Never noticed till you said. Lol, you'd think you'd be used to my brutality by now, but I lulled you all into a false sense of security for a while *grin* Mwahahaha! 

**Mrs. Mina Harker:** Thanks.

**Sethoz:** It's not huge… it's just noticeable… thanks for the review and lovely – for the most part – comments as always though. I thought _you_ were here first… lol, never mind, it's still good quoteage, and that part in the film rocks *grins*

**Capt. Cow:** So many questions – so few answers to give you! Lol, you'll find out soon.

**funyun:** What is it with cats and hands? Mine try that sometimes. Thanks for the review.

**drowchild:** Indeed it _is_ tense…

**Hoshii-chan:** Hope this wait wasn't too bad… my apologies.

Enough of that, and on with Chapter 8 of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

                Dorian had sent word to some of his contacts at the docks that they were to rendezvous with a small pod out to sea as soon as possible. He had given them its frequency so they could track it, and had sent them on their way. Once they had picked up all the occupants, they were to abandon the Nautiloid, making it all the more difficult for the _League_ to track them… not that he wanted them to lose the scent altogether; after all, he _wanted_ them to know who had done it, and where he was, and who he had taken… not that the final part would be a problem. He knew that idiot child had probably interfered and gotten himself involved somehow. Dorian wouldn't have been entirely surprised if the boy had gotten himself in trouble because of it. Mitesh and some of the others were not weak, and they were not stupid… one of the main reasons why Dorian Gray had employed them as he had.

                Glancing to an ornate clock on the wall, and twirling his polished cane in his hand, Dorian lifted a pristine brow, humming a gentle tune to himself, thinking over his plan as he watched the seconds tick away. They would walk right into the trap he had set for them… for one in particular. They would have no choice but to step into the noose and watch as he tightened it. He would take back what was his, and he had already set his plans into motion, giving them little choice but to play along with the story in his head. Smiling wickedly, he settled himself down with a novel and another brandy.

* * *

                Her head swam with sound and swirling light, colliding and coalescing until her temples throbbed mercilessly and she had no choice but to open her eyes to try and escape it. It only intensified the problem, and she made a light whimper into the cloth covering her mouth, glancing around her as best she could, laying on the floor on her side, her hands bound in front of her. Her blue eyes tried to focus, having great difficultly in doing so, and then she caught sight of movement nearby. She flinched instinctively, and forced her mind to clarify the image.

                It was the crewmen who had attacked her in her cabin, and her eyes narrowed, partially through confusion, and partially due to anger. She was also trying to figure out where they were… she did not recognise it, but then again… why _should_ she? She had not been on the Nautilus long. But as she lay there, she could feel movement, and she could see the man at the controls. She had seen the bridge of the Nautilus, and this was not it. They were no longer on the Nautilus.

                _Tom…_ she thought, glancing around wildly for a moment, and rethinking the movement when it caused her head to spin madly. She winced, and realised she had attracted unwelcome attention when a strong hand latched on her arm. She tried to scream at him to let go, but the sound came out muffled, even as he hauled her off the floor.

                Becky tried to fight him, but he was too large and strong for her to do so successfully, and could only scream.

* * *

                "Captain!"

                The crewman, Patel, burst into the room, unannounced, and near startling the _League_ members – the conscious ones anyway – out of their skin. They all started or muttered their shock with varying degrees of openness, and turned to the man, Nemo taking a stride towards him. His First Mate looked concerned to say the least, even angered by something he intended to share. 

                "We have been immobilised, Captain! The crew who escaped have disabled our aft engines, leaving us with half the power and speed we _should_ have… it will take at least a day, if not two, to repair."

                Nemo cursed something in his native tongue, causing the alarmed Rodney Skinner – now shocked out of his intoxication, even as he helped them load Sawyer onto a stretcher – to widen his eyes even further. The Indian man seemed to growl, and turned to the others as if to inquire without words whether they would be capable of performing the transportation of the wounded without his aid. He obviously wanted to check on the Nautilus and the damage sustained.

                _I do not envy the culprits_, Skinner thought, swallowing a rather large lump in his throat, only intensified when he happened to glance down at the bloodied face of his friend. _I do not envy them **at all**…_

* * *

                Henry had been busy for the last few hours, assessing the wounded – in the form of all _three_ American Agents – and was finally taking the chance to sit down at his small desk in the infirmary, and jot down in his log what had transpired. He had made a point of recording all injuries sustained… perhaps it would make him feel better in the dark distance of the future, looking back on the people he helped. Inside the deep recesses of his mind, Hyde chuckled scornfully.

                _This is not a good start… who could be behind all of this? Surely Nemo's men could not have mutinied on their own… they don't seem the type to do such a thing without reason and compensation. _Henry's mind ran with a hundred different – and often contradicting – ideas on the topic, and finally, when it became apparent they were not making any sense, he disregarded the idea to solve it altogether, giving in to the dull headache that was rising up the sides of his temples, like fingers tracing up his skull painfully. 

                Joe Harper and Huckleberry Finn had woken up around the same time, the former with nothing but a bruised jaw and still bloody nose – which had, thankfully, stopped bleeding at last – and the latter with discomfort around his back area, but nothing serious. They were a little shaken and irritated, and of course – understandably – deeply concerned for young Miss Becky Thatcher, who was still missing.

                Tom Sawyer was still unconscious. It was pushing eleven hours now, and Henry was starting to worry. He was concerned that a coma might slip into affect if the young American did not regain awareness of his own accord. No amount of drugs or stimulants would do him any good; he had sustained a concussion, and Henry did not wish to worsen his condition with narcotics and the sort. He frowned, furrowing his brow, and crossed the room after standing from his desk, intent on checking on Sawyer's condition. He had stitched up the head wound, and assessed that as the only damage Tom had suffered from in the scuffle, other than minor bruising from being thrown so harshly over and _through_ the table. 

                On top of all the injury the Americans had sustained – much to Hyde's apparent amusement, annoyingly enough – the Nautilus had been much slower on the Nautiloid's trail for a while now, because of the damage the crew had intentionally applied to the aft engine. The crew were working constantly to try and repair it as fast as they could, and the _League_ could only watch in dismay as the Nautiloid's signal drew farther and farther away from their own. Mina had been in and out of the infirmary a few times to see if she could help, but with nothing to do other than check Sawyer's vitals every hour… well, the phrase about too many hands came to Henry's mind, even as he stood over the young American's bed.

                A slight stirring in the young man's form caused his eyes to snap in his direction, away from the papers he was perusing at Sawyer's bedside, and he stared intently, even as the right hand shifted again, slowly but definitely. Henry was stuck for what to do for a moment, halfway between simply standing there and rushing out of the room to yell for the others… when he decided on a medium. He strode back over to his desk, and pressed a button next to the table, which would send a signal to Captain Nemo either on the bridge or in his cabin. He was bound to be in one of the two places, and Henry hoped he hurried. 

                Henry Jekyll had a feeling that Tom Sawyer would be able to help with clarifying what was going on.

* * *

                Huck practically skidded into the infirmary, only to find he was one of the last to arrive. Everyone else apart from Captain Nemo was present, and hovering close to or around Tom's bed. Joe turned to glance at Huck, a rather nasty bruise forming on his left cheek and jaw, and the other man's eyes were filled with worry about the situation. Mina Harker sat in the chair near to Tom's bedside, and Huck had a mental flashback of the other agent's Aunts seated beside him after he had been shot all that time ago… it was about thirteen years now that Huck thought about it.

                As calmly as he could manage, Huck approached the bedside, seeing Jekyll and Skinner standing side by side opposite Mina and Joe. Tom lay on the bed, moving slightly but not conscious… yet.

                "He has been moving for a few minutes now; a good sign that he will regain consciousness soon," Jekyll was saying as Huck drew to a halt next to Joe Harper, crossing his arms thoughtfully. His back was still sore from the collision with the wall, but other than that the only infliction he had suffered was the embarrassment at getting knocked out so easily. 

                "How bad is he?" Huck ventured to ask, when it seemed no one else dared.

                Jekyll made solid eye contact with the shortest of the Americans present, and replied earnestly, "It could be worse…  but he could have come out of it better. His concussion is nothing too serious, but it will give him trouble for a while, not to mention headaches."

                "Oh," Huck mumbled. He thought about Becky, how he had been forced to watch her simply lay over that man's shoulder, unconscious, unaware and unable to help herself… and then he remembered how bad he should feel about not being able to aid her himself. His brow furrowed shamefully, and then Tom's low groan drew his eye, not to mention everyone else in the room. He shifted noticeably, and he eyes opened slowly, groggily.

                All attention was on him, and Huck was suddenly glad he wasn't the one laying in the bed. He had always liked to stick back out of the way of people, preferring to keep to the metaphorical shadows, letting his thoughts run away with him until he was needed. And laying on that bed with everyone staring on him was _not_ his idea of keeping a low profile, wounded or otherwise. He had appreciated the lack of fuss that had been made over him. The amount he had had to sustain over the years… he had grown accustomed to that, after his father's odd death in that floating house, where he and Jim had gone hunting for odd ends and pieces of 'valuable' equipment when travelling… but this was different entirely. Aunt Sally had treated him kindly, and given him clothes and hot food – or cold food respectively – and he had had quite a fun time of it all… but being a prisoner in an infirmary, in a bed was something he didn't think he would be able to handle.

                Mina was staring intently and worriedly at Tom Sawyer, and Huck watched her for a moment, his brow furrowed in pensive consideration as he mused over what he had seen, behaviour-wise, with these people so far. He tried to recall Mina Harker's reaction to seeing Tom and Becky together, and found it difficult to do so.

                _Stupid alcohol…_

                Tom glanced around him in a hazy state, and winced heavily, causing Jekyll to say, "The concussion is the reason your eyes are sensitive. It will pass, Tom." 

                Tom groaned again, quietly, and moved to lift a hand to his temple, the one that had been – at least Huck guessed from the sight of it – slammed into the deck. He hissed through clenched teeth, and then his eyes opened widely, as though someone had delivered a slap to his face. "Becky!" he exclaimed desperately, even as Mina reached a hand forward to calm him. "Did you find Becky?"

                "Calm down, Agent Sawyer," Mina urged, and Huck noted the pleading in her tone, registering it for later consideration. "You will only harm yourself further."

                "I don't care," Tom shot back, "did you find her?"

                Everyone was silent for a moment, exchanging regretful glances, and Tom obviously caught it – despite the concussion – and his face fell. "You… you didn't find her? They got away?"

                "I'm afraid so, Agent Sawyer," Jekyll replied heavy-heartedly, and sighed. "They sabotaged the Nautilus in order to slow us down, but Nemo and his men are working on the repairs so we can pursue."

                Tom looked desperate and dismayed, and in that moment, Huck's heart went out to him, as he frowned, muttering to himself.

                Joe glanced to Huck, saying, "You gotta stop speakin' French."

                Huck glanced to his companion, having not realised what it was he had been saying. "I… what?"

                "Stop speakin' French," Joe mumbled, with half a heartfelt smile on his face. He had been doing that for years, ever since he had been properly teaching himself – with help of course, sometimes – to speak and write the language. 

                "Sorry… don't even realise sometimes," he responded flatly, returning the half smile. He turned his attention back on Tom.

* * *

                Tom couldn't believe Becky had been kidnapped… those men had gotten away with the woman he thought he loved… wait, _thought_ he loved? Where had _that_ come from? No… he loved her, he knew he did. He was just in shock from what had happened, and his head hurt like he never would have believed. He had tried to help her, and now felt more than useless because of his failure. He hoped nothing terrible happened to her… or the person responsible would never live to regret their mistake.

                _How could I let that happen to her? She was only here for a little over a day… if that… and I let **this** happen to her. _Tom's head hung for a moment, and then he felt Jekyll's hand on his shoulder, easing him back onto the pillows and against the headrest. He looked up when he heard Skinner's voice, realising he was only wearing his coat and trilby… no face paint. Skinner quite often avoided applying the makeup whenever he felt awkward or unsure of what to do… ironically hiding behind a face that was not there, an invisible mask of nothingness.

                "So… do we know what all this is about?"

                Tom just sat there, dejected and depressed because of what had happened, feeling his optimism drain away with every passing second, though he tried – somewhat half-heartedly – to keep a hold on it. His mind kept running over and over what had happened, and he tried to fathom the reasoning behind it… without much luck.

                Around him, the _League_ continued to talk, continuing with Mina, "From the looks of it, we have had a mutiny on our hands."

                That was when Captain Nemo made his presence known by announcing, "I handpicked my crew from the finest soldiers; that cannot be the case."

                "Well, Nemo, it appears to _be_ the case, 'cause I don't see any other way around it," Skinner objected lazily, slouched in his posture, his trilby tilting in the Indian's direction.

                "There must be another explanation," Nemo countered, his tone hard and insistent, and that was when Skinner seemed to realise that staying silent was his best option. 

                The room fell quiet again, and flashes of the incident swam back into Tom's mind, and suddenly, his eyes were wider, before they narrowed coldly, and he whispered harshly, "Wolf…"

                "… Tom?" Mina glanced to him, and cocked her head in an odd mixture of confusion and curiousity.

                "They said about keeping 'Wolf' waiting… don't you remember?" His green eyes turned to meet Mina's blue ones, and locked firmly. "Wolf… think about it."

                After a few moments, her shock and dismay registered, and she shook her head. "No… I killed him myself. I _watched_ him die; crumble to dust."

                "I'm sorry," Huck interrupted, waving a hand lightly, "what exactly are we talkin' about?"

                Tom glanced to his friend, and said, words heavy and laced with scornful meaning, "Dorian Gray…"


	9. In The Den

**Author's Note:** Oh dear… long time since my last update, and for that – again – I apologise. Stupid writer's block. The annoying thing is, I've pictured some of the end now, but I just can't write it, lol. On the plus side, I have read _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ for an insight into the charming little guy, and am now chugging away on the fascinating _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. Good read… both of them, though _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer_ is better I think, than its follow-up. Oh well… maybe that's just me. Time for the shout outs.

**BloodMoonLycan:** Don't worry about the long review time… I appreciate the review no matter what. *hugs* No guilt, missy. Hehehehe… pea soup *smile*. Go ahead, jug the bejeezus out of Tom… for once in my stories, it won't kill him if you do *grin*. Thanks for the review, pal!

**Graymoon74:** Hehehehe. Everybody knows GM wants Dorian… if they didn't before, they certainly do know *grin*. He is very dashing, I know… annoyingly so. A traitor? You'll have to wait and see. Yes… Tom needs his girl back… when he can figure out what he wants *grin*.

**Funyun**: Thanks for the Wolf thing comment… I just like playing with it. Well… the French… this is rather a stretched thing, but in the book, he tells Jim about the French, and can speak a few words. Now he wasn't messing about, cuz they were actual words, so I figured he kept it up, and learned it properly… it would give him an asset, after all *smile* Hope that cleared that up for you. Tom's eyes _are_ green yes, but if you look at Shane West very closely *giggles, and slaps self for distraction* you will see _flecks_ of hazel. It's subtle, and on the film poster *looks to her right at her own* they _emphasise_ the hazel/brown in them for some reason. They are blue in his book of origin, and Mina's are green… but it was all changed, and it doesn't bother me. Tom's are a wonderful green/hazel-flecked though. Hope that helped too.

**Leigh S. Durron:** I did indeed leave you like that. Hope this makes up for it. Hehehehe, yes, Leigh, good advice on the boo, but I still prefer TAoTS more. I am the cliffhanger queen! *cackles* Ahem…

**Hoshii-chan:** Love triangle? Quite possibly *winks*

**LotRseer3350: **BTLOTM? Well… that's nearly finished, but this has a ways to go yet. 

**GypsyGirl:** Thanks. Hehe, yeah, I'm being relatively 'nice' to Tom as my habits go. Huck and Dorian are both cool literary characters, I agree. Angst…? Most certainly!

**Mrs. Mina Harker: **Hehehehe… no fun without brutality? … I like the way you think, LOL!

**Kingleby:** Poor everyone! That's a good thing that I'm affecting you, lol. Poor guy yeah… and I'm a little like you *shifty look*

**Sethoz: **Ah, quoteage… sorry, I'm back in reality. Me? A genius? *blinks* You feelin' okay? Tom's awake, yay! Gotta get inside Huck's mind *wink* It's so fun in there, lol. 

**Capt. Cow: **… That is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. *gets out stick* Here we go!

Without any further ado, here is part 9 of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

                Mitesh heard it with highly tuned senses, before anyone else, and turned to his fellows, saying, "A boat is approaching." They grunted or nodded their approval, and one of them grabbed the American roughly by the hair, pulling her from her place on the ground. She clamped her eyes shut, and whimpered quietly, but when her blue eyes opened, they were full of a ferocity that made Mitesh wary. He would have to remember to watch her carefully, in case she tried something unbecoming of a lady. 

                He directed the Nautiloid towards the surface, using the controls skilfully, as Nemo had taught him in the past, no less. A grim smile touched Mitesh's lips as he realised how the man must have reacted to the treachery, and then thought about what Wolf – as he had been calling him recently – was offering them in reward. The churning noise from above started to grow louder as they ascended, and soon enough, they were breaking the surface of the waves, cutting through them like the knives the edges represented on the submersible exploration pod.

                They looked through the porthole on the small vessel, and saw the boat. It was turning to its port to run alongside them, and gruff men were hanging over the side expectantly, looking down at the strange object floating next to their ship. Mitesh directed one of the others to open the hatch, and the man quickly did so, reaching up to the top of the Nautiloid, where there was a flawless 'lid'. It lifted up and away smoothly, and the man poked his head out, as if to test the intentions of the crew on the boat nearby. They called to him, and he replied, but their voices were carried away by the wind, and Mitesh only caught the odd word here and there, before he turned his eyes on the woman. She did not flinch under his gaze, something that annoyed him. He was very tempted to strike out at her… he always believed that women should know their place and respect it, but he had no idea what Wolf would make of his actions… and so refrained. 

                The largest of them came back down into the Nautiloid and spoke to Mitesh, "They are the men Wolf sent for us."

                "Very good," Mitesh replied. "Take her across, and have them send over whatever is to be left behind."

                He nodded, and grabbed the American, yanking her to the hole, before lifting her up through it, where a man had clambered onto the slippery exterior of the Nautiloid, and hauled her to her feet. From there, she was handed over, onto the boat, and Mitesh lost sight of her then… he didn't care. They could do what they wanted with her. The men started to leave the Nautiloid as Mitesh shut down everything aboard, knowing that Captain Nemo – no, not _Captain _anymore… just Nemo – would be able to track it anyway. 

                With one last glance around what was once part of what he so strongly believed in, Mitesh clambered out of the Nautiloid and slammed the hatch.

* * *

                Walking with purpose, Mina closed her door gently behind her, and cast a glance over her shoulder, before moving stealthily towards the drape that hung seemingly of its own accord on the wall opposite her bed. Her blue eyes stared at the blank cloth, before she shakily raised a hand, and tore it away from its trappings. 

                She took a step back as the dark eyes of Dorian Gray stared into her own, as if silently mocking her in that way she had always hated. So handsome, yet so conniving. She stared into his face, searching for signs of decadence or menace… and found it in his eyes. They were laughing… seemingly _at_ her. She sneered, and tore the portrait from the wall, before wrapping it in the cloth again, and carrying it with her, under her arm, out of the room. Mina made her way to the dining hall, intent on calling a meeting of the _League_ to discuss their situation.

                It was time she made a little confession about the portrait.

* * *

                He had finally been allowed out the infirmary, after a whole, overwhelming twenty-four hours of unbearable inactivity. He was walking around the halls now, on his way to the dining room of the Nautilus, where the _League _was to meet to discuss the situation. They were all in agreement that it _was_ Dorian Gray now… even Mina, who had somehow proven it to herself, though Tom could not fathom as to how. He hadn't spoken to her since she had made this revelation, which had been a little over three hours ago. She hadn't wanted him out of the infirmary – neither had Jekyll – before then, and he had reluctantly agreed.

                He curiously wondered what it was that Mina wanted to tell them or show them, even as he entered the room, meeting the mix of concerned and surprised eyes. Had they not all known he was coming? If not… then he didn't care. Becky had been taken by the very man who had tried to blow up the Nautilus; the man whom Mina insisted she had killed, and he couldn't just sit around and let everyone else deal with the problem. No… that wasn't Tom Sawyer.

                Mina was standing at the head of the table, an expression of fiery anticipation on her intimidating yet hauntingly beautiful features, and Tom came to stand opposite her, at the other end. His hands were buried in the pockets of his pants, and Joe and Huck came to stand on each side of him, like guardians. He appreciated the _thought_, but it wasn't necessary. Nevertheless, he didn't have the heart to tell them to back away. They were only protective… they were all the same. Friendship meant a lot to them… always had.

                "So," began Nemo icily. He had been in a similar temper since the name had been mentioned… Dorian Gray… Ishmael's murderer and defiler of the Nautilus. It did not sit well with Nemo what the immortal had done, and Tom knew for a fact that it would never settle within the proud Indian as anything less than an insult to everything he was to try and take so much from him. The fact that Dorian had succeeded on one count did not help any either.

                Removing his hands from his pockets, he laid them flat on the tabletop before him, glancing to the nervous Jekyll, and the silent Skinner. It was odd to see the thief so reclusive. It was as though he were intimidated by the very idea of mutiny… as though he would be blamed again. The pince-nez turned in his direction, pinched onto an unpainted nose, and Tom threw him a reassuring gaze that said it all: _We don't blame you._

                Skinner took in a deep breath that made the jacket around his chest heave, and glanced to Mina.

                "So it _is_ Gray then?" Tom inquired when it appeared no one else dared to speak. He despised uncomfortable silences… they made him feel awkward.

                Mina let her eyes drop for a moment, before the clear blue met the pensive green, and she said clearly in cold tones, "It is."

                "How do we know?" Jekyll's quiet question floated from his rigid frame as though he had not meant to say it aloud, and his timid gaze spoke volumes as to his apprehension.

                "Because of this." Mina reached down under the table, and pulled something up. Tom furrowed his brow as she let one end land on the table's surface, and it sounded like a solid object. There was a heavy drape… one that he recognised.

                _That was no mirror_…

                She used her feminine hand to pull the cloth away, and they all stared in a mixture of horror and disgust at the portrait of Dorian Gray, perfectly represented in paint and canvas. Tom stared into the laughing eyes, the sneer that was subtlely shown on the perfect face making his stomach twist with a nausea that made him want to retch with hatred and his eyes narrowed despite himself, even as they rose to Mina's face.

                "You… you had it all along?" He was in stunned disbelief. She had been hiding it from them? How? Why? Was she still 'in love' with that monster of a man?

                Mina sighed for a moment, and then nodded as though ashamed. "Yes… I kept it secret for fear of what you would think of me."

                Jekyll, Skinner and Nemo said nothing, though the latter's irritation was evident in his ever-expressive eyes. They all looked discreetly to Tom, who stood between the confused Joe and the steadfast Huck, both of whom had their arms crossed over their shoulders. Mina appeared apprehensive as to what Tom would say or do, and even as she watched him, the American lowered his head in a slight bow so that they would not see the hidden closing of his eyes as he tried to rationalise what was going on.

                "What are we _supposed_ to think?" came his quiet question, shortly before the head rose again, and their gazes locked intensely across the length of the table they stood around.

                _Don't start, Sawyer… this is the last thing we need right now. We already have an external battle going on, we don't need an **internal** one as well._ But as usual, he ignored the rational part of his brain and went with the instinctual… the course that he would most probably regret choosing later on along the line somewhere.

                "Agent Sawyer… I had no idea, _whatsoever_, that keeping this portrait would allow him the power to resurrect," Mina told him. "I was led to believe that it would destroy him when he looked upon it."

                "And who told you that?" He cocked his head.

                Mina faltered here, and fell silent in her defiance.

                "Gray, right?" Tom nodded when she didn't respond or defy it in any way and he uttered a humourless laugh. "You didn't think he might have been lying?" Tom cocked his head, trying not to sound cold or harsh, but unable to prevent it as he pushed off the table. "You should have known better than anyone… he hurt you in the past, and tried to kill you… and you kept his immortality alive. Maybe you didn't mean it… I'm sure you didn't, but that's what happened." Tom's eyes hardened he knew, as he added, "And now he's got Becky."

                "You know I meant no harm in this, Agent Sawyer," she challenged, laying the portrait face down on the tabletop. Nemo seemed to relax slightly when he did not have to see the smug face. "I only kept it because…" She halted, as though she did not know the answer herself, which it seemed was the case.

                Tom looked at her, hurt showing in his eyes, as he shook his head with a light sigh. Without meaning to, he said, "You'd better _hope_ he doesn't hurt her…"

                "Tom…" Joe started, before the blonde American turned and left the room, seething, and thinking about Becky and what that… 'man' might do to her.

                He didn't know what he would do if he hurt her in anyway. He didn't want to think about it. 

* * *

                The crystalline notes that rang out from the piano were simply delightful to hear when approaching the study, the ringing of the music a blissful sound that carried into the soul and warmed the heart. The player seemed to have a touch for the instrument, and it seemed they were pouring everything they were feeling into the music. It was full of passion and emotion, and even as they ascended the steps – led by James – she couldn't help but be moved by its beauty.

                Her wrists were a little sore from the rope, and her mouth was unbearably dry from the dehydration that had settled in along the rest of their journey. Becky Thatcher glanced around her at the walls as they moved, taking in the various faces on the paintings and intricately created portraits by famous artists she had – not surprisingly, given her nationality – never heard of. She was aware of some American artists… but not English. 

                The time on the rest of their passage from America to England – London, she knew – had passed rather quickly… a little too quickly for her liking, and there was no sign of Tom, Joe, Huck or the _League_. She hoped they were all right. She _prayed_ they were unharmed… especially Tom and the other two agents, whom she cared for like family.

                The music grew louder as they completed their climb, and Becky tried to take in as much of their path through the vast house as possible, in case she had a chance to break for freedom. The last thing she wanted was to get lost. They were right outside the door where the piano was being so adoringly played, and the man, James, reached forward and pushed open the entrance to the room, allowing the music to flow to her clearly now, without hindrance. It was even more beautiful now that she heard it without obstruction, and despite herself, she found it difficult to breathe for the sound of it.

                The player did not look up, simply kept their dark, deep brown eyes on the keys as they played, before tilting his head back somewhat and closing them as if lost in the music he seemed to cherish. She took in his face, which was dashingly handsome, and flawless, no marring of any kind on his skin, save for the slight expression of pain as his hands moved deftly and exquisitely over the piano. His hair was a kind of mahogany-brown, with a gentle, charming curl that made it seem as though it framed his face almost angelically. He was thin, but not overly so, she could see that from where she was held near the doorway, and his limbs were long and nimble. His chest was broad and his shoulders were perfectly poised, in the posture of an ideal gentleman. His clothes spoke of stature as well, with their crisp lines and slight frills to the cuffs and collar. They were rather neutral in colour, with pastel greys, whites and beige, nothing too adventurous or thrilling. Though she tried to fight it, she found herself fascinated by the young man, and drawn in by his impossible masculine beauty and charm.

                His eyes opened, and his music faded softly, not suddenly and harshly, but as if drifting on a wind that wished to carry it off to the ears of faraway listeners. A smile touched his lips, and curved them upward slightly, even as he pushed up from the stool. There was a polished cane with silver pommel nearby, but he did not take it from its place as he moved from the piano. She could see a ring on his finger now, a ring of family importance, she assumed. He moved closer, and the feelings she knew were wrong swelled.

                He came before her, and touched his fingers to her cheek. She flinched for a moment, unable to look away from his eyes… they seemed so warm… yet there appeared to be no soul to them, something lost in the sands of time that he may never regain, and that thought saddened her. He gently removed the cloth from her mouth, tossing it to James, and said to her in a voice like silk, "Miss Thatcher… welcome to Melmoth House."


	10. Old Dog, New Tricks

**Author's Note:** Sorry… took a long time again. Anyway… *hides*

**LotRseer3350:** Dorian wouldn't try to seduce Becky… would he? Oh wait… he's _Dorian Gray!_ Of course he would. Lol.

**Hoshii-chan:** Dorian's up to something… not telling you what though, lol. It is (or was) Dorian playing the piano, yes, and he can do it in his book, so I put it in cuz it was such a wonderful image. 

**TARilus:** Hehe, Tom/Dorian fight… yes. Oh yes! And so you know, I took that line from your review, and used it in some of my manipulation art. Hope you don't mind, but it was such a gorgeous line!

**Mrs. Mina Harker:** … No one hurt or dying? AIYE! *calms down* Don't worry… I'm sure I'll make up for it. And if I told you what happened, it would defeat the object, lol.

**drowchild: **Ah yes… poor Mina. As for your other point… aheh.

**funyun:** Stockholm Syndrome is actually the title of one of my favourite songs by _Muse_. Lol. Piano… I couldn't resist that. From the way Mina reacted to Dorian's death at the end of the film, I'm guessing she wouldn't dare get rid of the portrait.

**BloodMoonLycan:** Now, now… don't kill Dorian yet, or the story ends. Twit… I love that word. So simple yet so humorous. Aww, you can write! I know you can! Write something to share with us! PWEASE?!

**Sethoz:** What did I do? Hmm… not telling, Mwahahaha! Yes… Tom… think of Tom. *slaps self lightly* I'm focused… I swear. *laughs at quote* Tom? Angry? … Fun! 

**kingleby:** *watches Dorian get hit with a stick, and bursts into giggles* Hehehehe! Poor Mina… poor Tom… I'm so hard on them.

**GypsyGirl:** Hanging? YIPE! I'm glad you like it so far, and I'm sorry it's going so slowly. 

**Graymoon74: **Yes… thank god for that *grins* Ass… you called Dorian an ass! *feigns a faint* Poetry…? Aww! *hugs GM* Thanks! That was so nice of you to say so! Aww… I feel really chuffed now. I'm **_such_** a dork. 

Anyway, without any further ado, here is Chapter 10 of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

                She was a beautiful woman, he had to admit… but Dorian Gray had seen _many_ beautiful, attractive women… and all of them were seducible in one way or another. He just had to find out what it was that she was weakened by, and abuse that, use it to his advantage… twist it and coil her around his finger. Smiling down at her pleasantly, in a warm fashion, he tilted his flawless face to one side ever so slightly, and said in a soft voice, "Do allow me to apologise for my associates' behaviour. It is _most_ unbecoming of a gentlemen to restrain a lady." He threw a mocking glare in Mitesh's direction, seeing the other man's confusion, even as he said, "James… please escort our… _guests_ to their rooms, will you?"

                "Yes, Mr. Gray."

                James ushered the sailors from the room, closing the doors behind him, leaving Dorian and the American alone, even as the immortal reached forward and took the roped wrists in his gentle grasp. The woman flinched and gave a soft gasp, trying to recoil.

                "Now, now," he soothed, in barely above a whisper, "I'm not going to hurt you… am I?" His brown gaze met her intense blue one, and locked enticingly. He was interesting her now, he could see. Her eyes were flickering with an odd mix of confusion and curiousity. They narrowed a fraction of an inch, and Dorian used that hesitation to slowly pull the hands to him, as he began to untie the harsh rope, taking his time with it, and trying not to make too much of an impression on her skin at all… other than the occasional 'accidental' brushing together of their flesh.

                "Who… who _are_ you?" she asked, and he listened carefully to her accent. It was lulled in points, but he had heard it before, albeit in a somewhat more masculine tone. Southern… she was definitely an acquaintance of Sawyer's. He could see he was making progress in weakening her already, and he smiled inwardly in his cruel, cocky fashion, pleased that he was making such a swift advance.

                "I am Dorian Gray," he told her politely, ever the gentleman in his act. "I am a prior acquaintance of the _League of Extraordinary Gentlemen_. I mean you no harm." He smiled warmly, unravelling the rope from her wrists completely and dropping it in an armchair. "You may call me Dorian."

                She glared at him for a long moment, and then raised an arm to strike, her reflexes swift, and she only froze when he did not move to stop her attempt. He tilted his head in the other direction, presenting his face at an angle where she could slap him across the cheek… but she did not take it.

                "You are Miss Rebecca Thatcher… correct?" He was careful in his approach, ever wary and gentle seeming, not wishing to alarm her or make her aware of what he was really trying to do.

                "… That's right. Becky." It seemed the abbreviation was subconscious, for she faltered after she said it, and hesitated, mouthing a word that took no form.

                "What would you like for me to call you?" He took a step closer to her, trying not to intimidate her too much, just make her feel that he was not afraid of her. After all, what could she do to him?

                _Nothing… whatsoever. She cannot hurt me, and her insults are like all American insults… rather weak and cheap and lazy. She can do nothing._ But still, he knew not to underestimate her, and he was determined not to.

                When she spoke, it was in a soft breath of a voice, her eyes never having left his. "Becky… my name is Becky."

                "Very well." He smiled, and inched closer. "Becky it is, then." 

                She made no sound, simply furrowed her brow. Her confusion in the blue eyed gaze was doubled in those few seconds that it took for her expression to change, and if it was possible, she was all that more inviting in those moments of perplexity. His urges rose.

                "You are wondering why you are here." It was not a question, for Dorian Gray had been somewhat of an expert at reading people – especially women – for some time now, he liked to think. He could see the question burning in her bright eyes, and moved immediately to answer it, "It's quite simple really, if not a little crude." He was close to her now, and could feel her somewhat startled breathing against his neck, looking down at her in as friendly a manner as he could manage. After all, he was quite the actor. "The _League_ and I… we do not get along. In fact, until _very_ recently, they thought me dead… at their hands, I might add." He made a point of leaving out the fact that he had betrayed them intentionally. "They… have something of mine, and I wish to have it back. Both items. And I am sorry to say, that for this to come to be… I needed to take something of value from _them_. I do apologise for that."

                And then she _did_ slap him, across the left cheek with quite a deal of vehemence, and Dorian kept his head to the side for a moment, breathing in to calm himself. Normally, he would have struck back, but he did not want to do that… it would cause him to lose the battle he was waging with the woman. 

                Raising his head, he looked to her, his eyes not having changed in their apparent warmth, and he sighed lightly. "Now… I understand your reasons for doing that… but it still wasn't very nice of you, was it, Becky?"

                "Miss Thatcher," she growled, and he was annoyed to think he might have lost her so soon already.

                _Persistence is the key_, he told himself, and nodded. "Very well… Miss Thatcher. Still, you may call me Dorian or Mr. Gray… I leave it to you to decide which."

                "Tom will kill you."

                "Will he really?" Dorian was intrigued by the challenge. "I don't think he will. My dear Miss Thatcher, I doubt he _can_." He chuckled quietly, amused.

                Becky's eyes blazed with a sudden fire, and he was impressed by her passion then, intrigued by it… and even hungry for it. She wasn't Mina… but she was quite a specimen, nevertheless. He inched closer to her again, noticing she stepped an equal distance back each time. He was frightening her now.

                "Agent Sawyer was a boy when I met him… a rather foolish, hot headed one at that… and somehow, I doubt he has changed. I doubt that very much." Dorian sighed almost lazily, in his usual bored fashion, and regarded the portraits of people whose names escaped him that littered his walls. "Sawyer is a child, and little more… one who needs to grow up and learn that in this big bad world… there are wolves lurking… ones with big. Sharp. Teeth."

                Becky gave a yell then, and he could barely make out the rather rude name that was buried beneath the anger, even as he heard the whisper of steel against wood, and felt the blade slip into his abdomen, pushing out through his back.

                He glanced down to where his own sword had run him through, held in the white hand of the rather shaky Becky Thatcher. Her eyes were wide at his nonchalance, and he sighed dramatically.

                "They _never_ learn, do they?" he muttered to himself, shaking his head as if deeply disappointed. He reached up to the hilt, prizing her hand away from the wooden grip, and pulling the blade out, grimacing a little as he did so, sighing again as though deeply annoyed. "That was quite rude of you, wasn't it?"

                He picked up the cane sheath for the weapon, and angled it expertly, sliding the blade away without even looking at it. He twirled it once, and then reached out quickly, gripping Becky firmly but not too roughly by the shoulder, pulling her to him. His cane-sword was dropped to the chair near to him, and he stared into the American's eyes.

                "How…" she gasped, fear evident on her features, as well as overwhelming confusion that seemed ready to consume her entirely should she not get her answers.

                "I, my dear," he began in a whisper, breathing in the scent of her hair, like gentle blossoms in the spring, but hinted with the unmistakable tang of the Nautilus… and just speckled with Sawyer, he imagined with a wry smirk, "am what they call… an immortal."

                She tried to fight against him, but he just held her tighter and closer, until their faces were almost touching, despite the fact that she was shorter than he was. He had bowed his head to her invitingly, and smiled. "Don't fight me… I won't hurt you, unless you make me… or _wish_ me to."

                "You bastard," she growled at him, and his smile only grew with the humour of it all.

                "Really? Is that what I am?" His lips inched closer to hers, and though she still seemed to be struggling vehemently, she did not completely draw away when they brushed with hers. She gasped in slightly, as if stunned, and he felt her shiver.

                "Don't do that again," she panted.

                "I won't," he replied softly, looking her in the eye briefly, "… unless you want me to."

                Becky's heart was racing in her chest… he could almost hear it, and hid his smile, forcing it to drop and allowed his mask to resume precedence, covering all amusement and humour, and replacing it with lust and passion. He wanted her… she was so inviting.

                "I…"

                "You what?"

                "I… I…" The American seemed unable to progress beyond this stage, and then he kissed her again, holding her head, and deepening the gesture steadily, feeling her protestation at first, before she gave in to him, and leaned against his body, much to his delight.

                _Better than I had planned… Dorian, you haven't lost your touch._

* * *

                "All ahead full!" Nemo stood in the bridge of the Nautilus, finally relieved to be able to command those words and know they would have affect. The crew paid heed to his order, and soon the mighty ship was coursing out at its maximum capacity, no longer limping along at half speed as it had been the past two days. Much to his bemusement and annoyance, the signal for the Nautiloid had stopped. The optimist within wished to believe that the vessel had simply run out of fuel and had failed its mutinous small crew… but the pessimist – and realist – won out. They had not run out of fuel… they had not malfunctioned… they had abandoned the device, and escaped their pursuers.

                "Captain?"

                Nemo turned at the American accented voice, and met the discreetly pleading gaze of Tom Sawyer. He was standing somewhat awkwardly in the doorway to the bridge, looking apprehensive and unsure for a change. "Agent Sawyer? Can I help you with something?"

                "I hope so," Sawyer replied stoically, firm now, no longer hesitant. He did not step further into the room, but held Nemo's gaze steadily, as if hoping the man would understand the unspoken request.

                Nemo arched a brow inquisitively, waiting patiently for the question to come.

                "I'd like you to teach me how to fight."

                Nemo blinked once. "Agent Sawyer, correct me, please, if I am wrong… but do you not already _know_ how to fight?"

                "I can _defend_ myself all right," Sawyer responded, nodding a little, "but it' the _offence_ I'm rusty with." He hesitated a little here, and then said carefully, "And it's not just with the fists that I'm talking about." His eyes strayed, and Nemo caught their trail, looking back to the young American in surprise.

                 "You wish… to learn swordsmanship?" Nemo couldn't help but narrow his eyes in perplexity. Where had this desire so suddenly sprung from?

                "That's right," Sawyer replied plainly. "I want you to teach me… please."

                "But why, Agent Sawyer? You are a very impressive shot, if not one of the best I have seen in my time." He could see his compliment had some positive affect on the younger man, but not enough, for the contradiction wasn't long in coming.

                "Guns are only useful if you've got the range to get an effective shot in, Nemo," Sawyer told him with assurance lacing his tone. "In close combat… you're in trouble. I need to be able to defend myself _and _retaliate in confined quarters."

                Nemo considered this, turning it over and over in his mind, before his brow furrowed sceptically, and he eyed the agent with a sense of foreboding. "Mr. Sawyer," he began quietly, tentatively at first, "you are not planning on challenging Gray… are you?"

                The green eyes never wavered, and after what felt like a long few moments, Sawyer simply said, "No."

                Somehow, Captain Nemo was less than convinced, but despite this, he found himself saying, "Very well then, Agent Sawyer… I will teach you. We will start when you are ready." Nemo turned back to face the front windows of the bridge, to look out at the sunset on the horizon.

                "I'm not doing anything _now_."

                Nemo glanced over his shoulder at the American, and cocked his head with a slight, hidden smile, before chuckling quietly at the enthusiasm. "As you wish." He nodded to Patel, who took his place as they left the bridge, assuring him that he would be notified the moment they had the Nautiloid in sight.


	11. Foreshadowing

**Author's Note:** Sorry this took so long. Why do I keep saying that lately? Maybe because my updates are taking ridiculously long… that must be it. Ugh.

**queerquail: **Hehe, and reviewer #99 you were. Trouble? Where? Timmy fell down the well?! Oh wait… wrong movie, sorry. _::blinks::_

**Leigh S. Durron:** Hehe, 'whup', good word. Good? Ah yes… foreshadowing from the trailer, here. We. Come.

**Capt. Cow:** I always try to scramble through writer's block to avoid disappointing readers with _ridiculous_ updates… longer than this… don't look at me like that. All right, all right! Here's an update, lol.

**Mrs. Mina Harker:** Stop reading my ideas! Lol. Nah, it was obvious, wasn't it?

**Hoshii-chan:** _Everybody_ wants to beat up Dorian! _::pokes plushie – it squeaks::_ Aheh. Close combat Dorian and Tom you say… hmmm…

**funyun:** Hehe, what gives you the impression that Tom won't expect what he's going to get? That made no sense… whatever. Hehe, you have wacky mental images. Thank you, about how I write Dorian. He's annoyingly fun to write! Aheh, funny the stabbing reminded you of PoTC, because I base Becky on Keira, lol.

**LotRseer3350:** Interesting? Mwahahaha. Thank you. Hahahaha! You called Becky a _what?!_ LMAO!

**TARilus:** Chilling? Excellent… what I was hoping for _::evil cackle::_ Ah, another supporter for my portrayal of Dorian. Yay! Thanks. And about the picture, thanks!

**Sethoz:** _::is shaken – rattles::_ Becky is crazy?  _::looks at dragged Tom – he blinks, confused::_ You're scaring my main character, Sethoz, buddy… might not be a good idea, lol! Loved the quote – smooth usage. I approve _::winks::_

**Graymoon74:** Yummy? Yay. Becky… she seems to let people down, lol, but don't lose all hope for her yet. And yes, Dorian can be an ass, absolutely. Wow… I'm glad I've got all this support about Dorian and how I write for him. It's comforting. It really is. Tom/Dorian fight! Of course, you'll have to wait quite a while, but everybody knows it's coming! Thank you.

And now, without further delay, here is Chapter 11 of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

                With a sharp intake of shocked breath at what she was doing, Becky rammed her knee forward and upward… into the groin of Dorian Gray. He reeled backwards and away from her, gasping and giving a hiss of discomfort, glaring at her with what _had_ been soothing brown eyes. She returned the expression, her face hard and set with determination and just a hint of disgust. She could taste him in her mouth, and wanted to gag, resisting the urge to retch in order to deliver the scornful line, "You bastard."

                Dorian surged forward, and backhanded her across the face sharply, before taking one of her arms in a vice grip, and growling, "I may be a bastard, _Miss Thatcher_… but you are still in _my_ house, and therefore will abide by _my_ rules." With a cocking of one prim eyebrow, he added, "Whether you like it or not." Putting on a feigned expression of sympathy, he said, "It would be such a shame to have to restrain you again."

                Bringing her head back up, she tossed her blonde hair from her face, and spat at him, succeeding in hitting him in the eye. He simply stood there, still gripping her wrist, and removed a handkerchief from his breast pocket. He flicked it open, and dabbed his face with it, before slinging her aside, roughly, into a padded armchair.

                She gasped with the force of his discard, and wanted to attack him further, even as he moved over to the piano again, and sat at the stool. Regarding her for a moment, he began to play, his eyes never looking down to the keys as his fingers moved deftly and gracefully over them.

                "What you fail to understand, Miss Thatcher," he said to her, keeping his eyes firmly pinned on her, almost unnervingly, as she sat rather slumped in the chair, staring back at him, "is that I am in control of this situation. I like winning. Losing does not suit me at all. It's very drab, and I despise it… most unbecoming a gentleman such as myself." He smirked wryly. "And I plan to make this no different. I will win, because I am so adept at it. It is what I do, and in my life… which has been a _long_, fruitful one, Miss Thatcher, let me assure you… I have learned just how to always get my way."

                Becky scowled at Dorian Gray, disbelieving as to the ego of the man. Was he really so filled with delusions of grandeur? He was no better than any other despicable scoundrel who had tried such dirty schemes back in America. And they had all been thwarted… by the Secret Service, no less. And the Nautilus – which she hoped was on the way right now – had three such agents aboard.

                "They'll-"

                "Come for you? As I believe I said before… I intend for that to happen. I hope for it… and am looking forward to it. In _fact_," he added, building to a crescendo on the piano, "they should be close to discovering my gift to them. Right. About. Now."

                "Again."

                Tom panted heavily, perspiring and near exhausted, but filled with a burning determination, holding the grip of the sword in both hands, staring at his trainer and opponent questioningly.

                "Agent Sawyer," Nemo began stoically, "if you are insistent on being taught… and for me to be your teacher, you must become accustomed to my _teachings_."

                Tom nodded, reluctant to use the energy to speak, and readied himself again, adopting the stance Nemo had taught him. He had been told that it was an optimum position for defence and offence alike, and Tom was willing to listen to anything the Indian had to tell him about swordplay. Tom knew nothing about bladed weapons… other than the pointy end went in the other person preferably. And if he had to do what he thought he might have to in the foreseeable future, then any new combat skills were a boon.

                 "Are you ready?"

                Tom nodded again, once, before Nemo advanced on him, raising his sword in a predetermined arc for a strike. Tearing his own sword upward, Tom met the blade of Nemo's weapon with a clang, blocking the blow. Nemo spun quickly, striking out with the sword again, and with little else to do with the time allotted to him, Tom ducked, bringing the blade up and around behind him, over his head, hearing its eerie song as it ran along Nemo's weapon.

                "Very good," Nemo encouraged, but did not stop, bringing the sword at the American again.

                Tom widened his eyes slightly at the all-too-swift retaliation, and ducked his head backwards, feeling the rush of air that accompanied the sweeping of the blade past his ear.

                _Too close_, he told himself, and decided that offence was as good a choice as any right now. Simple defence would serve him well, yes, but he needed to be able to _attack_ in return. So it was that he arced the sword towards Nemo, who blocked and parried his blows with annoying ease. Tom kept trying to land a blow – with the flat side of the sword, as they had been for nearly two hours now – and swung the sword roughly towards the turban.

                Nemo calculated the trajectory of the blade in the blink of an eye, and with his own weapon, slammed Tom's to the ground, lost from his grasp, before spinning, and bringing his sword within a hair's breadth of the American's throat. Tom froze instinctively, and looked Nemo in the eye, his breath held in anticipation of what might happen.

                Nemo kept his eyes locked with Tom's for what felt like hours, as though studying him, something that made the American feel a little uncomfortable all of a sudden. He swallowed carefully, reluctant to get himself hurt any further, panting slightly through no fault of his own, and returned the gaze, wondering why the man was hesitating in drawing away. Tom inched backward, nearly losing his balance, and the blade followed him exactly, staying at his jugular.

                That was when the footsteps resonated hollowly from down the corridor, heading towards them, moments before the door opened, and a crewman became apparent, hesitating at the sight before him. Neither Tom nor Nemo acknowledged him with their eyes, keeping them locked on one another.

                "Captain?"

                "What is it?" Nemo's voice was blunt, edged with a pressing tone that implied the crewman be quick with whatever it was.

                "We have reached the Nautiloid, sir. You asked to be informed."

                "Very well. Thank you."

                The crewman left the room, and Nemo returned his full attention to the American at his mercy… though Tom wasn't keen to admit that. But, he supposed, there were worse people to be bettered by in a swordfight.

                And suddenly, the sword was pulled away from Tom, who nearly toppled with the shock, sucking in the breath he had been reluctant to take, and looking to Nemo as though he had just been slapped in the face.

                "You are a quick study, Agent Sawyer. If it is still your wish, we will continue this at a later time." Nemo replaced his sword gracefully into its scabbard, and regarded Tom quizzically.

                "Er… yeah… yes." Tom shook his head to try and stop the fumbling, closing his eyes for a moment, as he picked up the sword he had been using. He was growing accustomed to the feel and weight of it, as he looked to Nemo again. "That would be great. Thank you."

                "You are most welcome. But remember one thing, Agent Sawyer," Nemo began. "Always plan ahead in a combat. Think two stages ahead, and consider what it is that your opponent may attempt to do. That way… such things will not happen." He threw Tom a knowing look, referring to what had just occurred. Without saying anything further, and only offering a nod, he swept from the room, leaving the doors open behind him.

                Tom stared after him, one brow raised, before he looked back to the polished weapon he was using. Spinning it deftly around his wrist, he returned it carefully to the rack where it had come from, and followed Nemo from the room.

* * *

                Captain Nemo strode onto the conning tower, having met with Patel on the way to the bridge, who assured him that the Nautiloid was abandoned. They had sent people over to check the small vessel, finding it empty. Tom Sawyer was not far behind him, and Nemo suppressed the smile that wished to surface, given how quickly the American was progressing in his lessons. Nemo had a fair idea as to why Sawyer wished to learn the art of the blade… after all; did Dorian Gray not use a cane-sword in combat?

                Trying not to think about such things, he walked to the railing, seeing some of his crew along the bulk of the Nautilus, calling to the people at the Nautiloid. One of them had powered it up, and was angling it towards the bay where it could be docked. Another crewman – inside the ship – was extending the arm. Nemo nodded to Patel, trusting him to take over the operation, turning to Sawyer and Mrs. Harker, who had been alerted by the rushing of activity it seemed.

                "Have they found anything, Captain?" she asked, Sawyer by her side with his hands in his pockets. The American regarded the vampire for a moment, a prolonged gaze, and then glanced back to Nemo.

                "Nothing as of yet, Mrs. Harker. If it is all right with the both of you, I have decided to call everyone together for a meeting in the dining chamber."

                "Sounds like a good idea," Sawyer agreed, nodding.

                "Very well, Captain. I will make my way there immediately."

                "I'll join you," Sawyer offered politely, nodding to Nemo, and allowing the woman to leave the tower first. Nemo looked on after them for a moment, before taking the ladder down himself.

* * *

                Mina headed in the direction of the large room where they took their meals, with Tom Sawyer by her side. She glanced at him every now and then, and cleared her throat delicately, finally gathering the nerve to say, "I must apologise for my behaviour, and keeping secrets from you and the rest of the _League_. That was wrong of me."

                Tom looked to her at once, and then diverted his gaze for a moment, drawing in a deep, contemplative breath, before saying, "I should apologise as well. I was angry… upset about Becky. You didn't deserve that. I should learn to control my emotions."

                "Emotions are what make you human." Mina tilted her head and looked to him for a moment, seeing his confusion over this statement. "Never regret your emotions, Tom… cherish them. They are precious, regardless of just what they are… anger, love, sorrow… they remind you that you are alive." She hung her head for a moment. "And remember that some are not so lucky to have them as passionately as you."

                Their conversation dwindled there, with forgiveness flowing like a charge between them lightly, before they reached the room they had been heading for. Joe Harper and Huckleberry Finn were already inside.

                "Did they find anything?" Joe blurted, turning to them at once. Huck was beside the other man, arms crossed over his chest in a determined, pensive fashion. He glanced to the black-haired man for a moment, and then turned his attention briskly to the new arrivals.

                "Becky and the crew were gone when they found it," Tom revealed, dejectedly. Mina glanced to him for a moment, trying to detect just how he was feeling about all of this. It was hard to tell, but she knew he must be hurting. She had seen the signs of the affection between Tom and Becky Thatcher… and for a moment, had found herself almost scornful of this fact. Pushing her mind along, she looked to the two other agents.

                "Captain Nemo will meet us here shortly, along with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Skinner."

                "Someone call my name?" A cheery voice had echoed to them from just outside the doorway, and Rodney Skinner strode in promptly afterwards, slapping Mina's behind in a casual gesture as he passed her by. She growled openly, and his vacant – quite literally – face turned to her at an angle.

                "Now, now, Mina… I'm only playing, you know that. No need to get all… beastly on me."

                Mina glared for a moment, and then realised that they were not going to change the thief's habits – no matter how bad – anytime soon, and least of all by threatening him. It would take a _lot_ of time and patience. And that wasn't going to happen soon, she knew that. There were other matters to be dealing with.

                It wasn't long before Skinner shuffled off to seat himself at one side of the long table, slouching back in a casual, but pensive manner. One hand came up, as if to run over his chin, but given that both were invisible, it was left to the imagination of the observer. The trilby cast a shadow over where his head should have been, landing very slightly on the table's edge, giving him a unique appearance. Mina regarded him for only a moment longer, before registering that Tom had gone to stand with his American friends. Dr. Jekyll strode in not too long after that, whilst Mina still stood by the door, as though unintentionally guarding it, though from what… she did not know, and could not comprehend.

                Nemo followed not long after that, closing the doors behind him. He wore a grave expression, and lay down two items on the tabletop, stepping back only slightly to declare, "Mr. Gray deemed it necessary to leave us… gifts."

                Mina's eyes fell upon the so called 'gifts', and she stepped forward for a better view of them, stopping beside the wary Jekyll, whose left hand resided in his trouser pocket, as though he were clutching a vial of elixir. The first of these two items was a sleeve, containing… a recording disk. Mina's alert automatically went up, remembering the last incident involving such a thing. They had nearly been killed; the Nautilus almost destroyed. The second item was an envelope, no doubt containing a letter. Mina's clear azure gaze drifted to her companions, _League_ or otherwise, inquiringly, as to how they should proceed.

                "Mrs. Harker," Nemo began seriously, "I believe it falls to you to open the envelope."

                Mina eyed the Indian for a long, reluctant moment, before she inched closer, reaching out with a hand as though she expected the item to burn her. She took it in her grasp, and brought it before her, hesitant to open it, for fear of what she might find inside. Seeing the burning intensity of query in Tom Sawyer's eyes, she could be reluctant no longer. She pulled open the seal, and removed the letter.

                At first, she skimmed it through to herself, filled with a fiery anger, and then spoke it aloud for the others to hear;

                _To my dearest Mina, and the _League_…_

_                                I have no doubt that this letter will reach you, and Mina will be the one to read it. I do not know of any others among who would dare or wish to. Such is your nature. You are predictable, my friends, and I can calculate your moves. The game of chess springs to mind._

_                This brings me to my next point… and offer. No, a demand. An exchange. There, that does not sound so brutal. I propose an exchange. I have something of yours – of Tom Sawyer's in particular I believe – in my possession; a guest in my house. I know you wish to have Miss Becky Thatcher – passionate as she is – back amongst you, but it comes at a price, my friends, one that I deem you capable of considering seriously._

_                In exchange for Becky Thatcher, or Miss Thatcher as I have no doubt she will have me call her, I would like the intact return of my property. I know it resides aboard the Nautilus still. How could it not? It – they – were not at the scene of my resurrection, and such, could be nowhere else. _

_                Of course, my property consists of the portrait, the one I hold very dear to my heart. But not only this. No. It also applies to something not generally classed as a possession, but as an individual._

_                One Wilhelmina Harker. I can only picture your faces as this line is read, and I must confess that the image amuses me. But my exchange stands firm. The terms shall not and cannot be altered, or it will mean the immediate… forfeit, of Miss Thatcher._

_                Yours Sincerely_

_Dorian Gray_

_P.S. I have included, for my dear Mina, a private recording, absent of a detonation device, I assure you. Enjoy._

                Tom Sawyer was seething; Mina Harker in dismay. Of course, she felt the rage, oh yes… it coursed through her veins like poison, stabbing at her heart until she could stand it no longer. She gripped the letter tightly in her hands, and felt her nails tear through the fragile paper.

                Glancing to her associates, all of whom seemed to pointedly avoid her gaze, she turned, her skirts billowing, and swept gracefully from the room.


	12. Skin Deep

**Author's Note:** _::screams::_ My god, I cannot apologise enough! I only hope I haven't caused you to lose interest. I got slammed with awful writer's block, which isn't a tremendous excuse I know. Ugh… I can only apologise sincerely, and hope it doesn't happen again  .

**TARilus:** Thank you. Glad you liked the training. It was harder to write than an actual fight for some reason. And the letter… that changed as I wrote it, lol, originally, the instructions and deal were going to be recorded on the disc, and the letter was just to explain that there was no bomb, heh. Bastard would be accurate, yes.

**Mrs. Mina Harker:** Hehehehe… someone is psychic  o.O

**funyun:** Can I just start by saying… WOW! What a long review! Thanks! XD is a grin, btw. Butt… yes, that is Dorian, in a nutshell. Ooh, Monopoly money! Yay! Hehe. Arrogant is another good word, yes. In character? Excellent. Glad you said that. Always comforting to know I've gotten someone in character. Hehe, I think Dorian knows Mina doesn't want to be with him… but he will probably try and make her love him anyway, because as you so aptly put it, he is a butt. Hmm… Dorian and Becky. Scary thoughts  o.O  I suppose you'll have to wait and see what happens in regards to the hostage situation and the exchange, unfortunately, because I'm not giving anything away, heh. Glad you thought the practise scene was grand. I had aimed for Nemo to be scary in that moment when he had Tom at a disadvantage. It's what I was going for, and I'm glad it worked. Foreshadowing… don't you love it, Bwahaha. Hehe, tickets for a chapter… hmm… _::thinks::_ Don't give me ideas! Hehe. Thanks for the epic-length review!

**LotRseer3350:** Tom learning swordplay… fun, fun, fun. I don't think you're the only one saying "be still my heart" _::looks at fangirls::_ Egad… look at them all.  O.O  Gotta love swords, right? Yay, Becky! She realised her stupidity! Sorry about the delay. .

**Leigh S. Durron:** Poor Mina indeed. Not much she _can_ do to Dorian, is there? After all, leverage is the key, and he certainly has it… the weasel.

**Graymoon74:** Glad you loved the letter. All we know so far is that Dorian just wants his property back. Sir Meanie Weenie… gotta love that  XD  Becky is a tough little Missouri cookie… weird phrase. My apologies.

**drowchild: **A twist… I love twists. Evil, indeed. Love being evil too. Hehe. Tension is the name of the game, etc… and thank you for the review!

**Sethoz: **Aw, don't' worry, cuz I took even longer to update! Kiss ass chapter? Cool. I could leave it there because I am Clez… answer your question? Ah wait, you answered your own question, heh. Yay! You loved the training! I'm glad. You've _terrified_ him, forget scared… o.O

And now, with my utmost apologies, here is the next part to **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

                "So he must mean we have to meet him at Melmoth House for an exchange right?" Tom had watched Mina force herself from the room, and had decided to give her a little time, to get to grips with everything. "He didn't state another address, and unless there was some hidden clue in that letter that Mina might have decoded… then I don't think he's planning on sending us another note."

                "Unless it's on the record," Huck pointed out, gesturing with a nod of his head towards the disk. He shrugged shortly after, uncertainty in his brown eyes. He glanced to Joe at his side, to Nemo, and then back at Tom.

                Tom shook his head, decidedly. "No," he said. "Gray said in the letter that it was a private recording for Mina only."

                "We should listen to it," Joe offered. Tom and Huck – not to mention the rest of the _League_ – looked to him, eyebrows raised in query. "There might be something in there that we need to hear."

                "I'm not listening to it." Tom shook his head again. "Whatever is in there… I don't want to hear it. And I'm going to take it to Mina. Now."

                "C'mon, Tom, you don't know what's in there. It could be a trap or somethin'," Joe argued, narrowing his eyes.

                "I don't care. I'm _not_ listening to it. Call me stubborn, but I won't."

                "You're stubborn."

                Tom shot a half-irritated glare in Joe's direction, before striding to the end of the table, taking the disk in his hands, and leaving the room, with Skinner and Jekyll watching him in a mixture of confusion and fascination by his actions.

                Tom looked down at the sleeve as he walked, turning the deal over and over in his head, as though seeing it from a different mental angle would present a new option to him. Sighing heavily, he knew he wasn't going to find one. Dorian… damn him. Damn him all the way to hell and back again… which was probably what had already happened to the smug immortal.

                Tom had no intention of truthfully going through with the exchange. They could concoct some sort of plan, and they would be able to outsmart Dorian Gray. It couldn't be that hard… take advantage of the vanity, pride and ego of the man, and they would have no trouble. With Joe and Huck along, it was surely going to be even easier to work something out.

                _If only Ben were here_, thought Tom for a moment. _He was always good with plans_. Shrugging, he came up upon Mina Harker's cabin, hesitating at the door. He was suddenly wary of going inside, though his hand rose to knock of its own accord… before sinking to the handle, and turning it.

                "Mrs. Harker?"

                There was no reply, and he poked his head around the door, glancing about in the darkness that was the cabin that served as home for the female vampire. He saw her vague shape, illuminated by the wan light that filtered through the partially open door. She was simply sitting on the edge of her bed, facing the wall, where the portrait was leaning, no longer hung. Her eyes had not moved from it, and she barely wavered at all in her position. There was a brief inclination of her head, but nothing more.

                Tom stood motionless in the doorway; unsure of what to do, and knowing she was aware of his presence regardless of her stillness. "I brought you the record," he told her quietly, carefully.

                "I don't want it."

                Tom frowned. He stepped a little more into the room, suddenly more aware of the darkness than before, and realising how much it bothered him. "You shouldn't be sitting in the dark like this."

                "I'm a vampire, Agent Sawyer, I have perfect night vision capabilities."

                "Even so, you should have a lamp on." With that, he switched one on, close to him, letting it cast out a faint glow. He walked over to stand beside her, and offered the sleeve and disc out, just before her face, but at a distance. He wasn't sure why, but he thought she would knock it away. Instead, the crystal blue eyes rose, and regarded him seriously.

                "I am sorry for what has happened, to Miss Thatcher, and with Dorian. I should not have believed him to be dead so easily. After all," she said, voice smooth but quiet, as though haunted, "he _is_ an immortal, and will not cease to be one."

                "It's okay, Mrs. Harker," he reassured, lowering the disc a little, as though he knew she wasn't going to take it anytime soon. "We'll get her back, and we'll think of something so we don't have to go through with the exchange. I don't wanna give him the power of getting what he wants."

                Mina looked him in the eye. "And just how do you propose to trick him?"

                Tom looked over at the portrait for a moment, the smirking face so calling for Tom to stab it or something of the like. Shooting it would lift a weight…

                "We'll think of something." He offered the recording again, more casual this time, cocking his head, and raising a brow, inquiringly.

                Mina hesitated, bordering on the decision of whether or not to accept the item, before one feminine hand reached out and took it from Tom. He let it go, and dropped his arm to his side, soon to find residence – automatically – in the pocket of his pants, followed immediately by the other.

                Mina turned the disc over in her hand in its sleeve, much in the same manner as Tom had on the way down, and he smiled at that. It was a peculiar coincidence. She stood from the bed, and walked to the ornate gramophone sitting on a table across the room from where she had been sitting. She removed the vinyl disc from its thin sleeve, and placed it on the player.

                Tom turned, and made to leave the room. After all, it _was_ a private recording, regardless of its origin.

                "Agent Sawyer," Mina called, drawing his attention to her. His head turned, and he looked through a natural veil of blonde hair, green eyes peering at her curiously. "Would you remain?"

                Reluctant at first, Tom turned his body back to face hers. "It's private, isn't it?"

                "It is from _Dorian Gray_, Agent Sawyer. I care not for privacy." She moved the pin down, activating the phonograph. She moved away from the player for a few seconds, so she was standing almost in the middle of the room. Her clear gaze did not leave the large projector for the sound as it crackled into life.

                Tom listened as soft music began to emanate from the recording on the vinyl, and he furrowed his brow, caught up in the notes for only a moment, before he remembered the sender. The piano's melody was haunting, and almost beautiful in a dark, shadowing manner. It played on his senses, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

                Mina however, seemed lost in the rhythm and melody of the music, and her chest rose and fell a little faster, as though trapped in the piano and its melancholy song. She moved back to the bed, and sat shakily on the edge of it, Tom watching her with concern and curiousity burning passionately inside of him. Something in the music was frightening or disturbing her, it seemed, and he did not like that at all. Mina was his friend, perhaps more, and he felt the unbelievable urge to protect her any way he could.

                _Perhaps more…?_

                Shrugging off the thought at once as simple instinctual care for those around him, he moved in front of her, trying to draw her eye as the piano continued to play hauntingly in the background. "Mrs. Harker?"

                Nothing.

                Biting his lip for a moment, he decided to try a more direct approach. "Mina? Can you hear me? Look at me."

                The blue eyes met the green of the American, and wavered for a moment. "Tom…" she breathed, as if in surprise.

                _Okay… this isn't right. Something's wrong._

                "Mina, I'm going to stop the music, okay?"

                She simply stared at him, as though transfixed by his presence, and that frightened him. She did not look demonic, or vampiric… but she looked lost in herself, and that was not a common thing.

                "Mina?" he tried again, futilely waving a hand in front of the flawless face, receiving not even a blink as a reaction. Turning slowly and carefully away from her, he made his way over to the phonograph, intending to stop the melody that had the strong vampiress so trapped in some kind of – he assumed – dark reverie.

                Reaching for the device, he thought he heard a snarl behind him, only to be grabbed and spun mere seconds later. Mina's eyes flashed a defensive red as she drove him back, against the wall, her face inches from his own, as if threatening as she hissed, "Do not touch it…"

                "Mina–" Her hand clasping upward beneath his lower jaw cut him off before he could continue, and he closed his eyes. Taking a breath, he moved his left hand to her gripping wrist, but her other snatched it away, slamming it against the wall. He winced with the jolt, and kept his right hand firmly where it was, so as not to provoke her.  He could barely move his jaw for her hold on him, not choking but insistent on his silence. With a deep breath, he opened his eyes to look at her face, so beautiful and yet so secretly dangerous. He tried to transfer in his gaze that he trusted her, and knew she was not herself. It was the music doing this to her.

                "You…" her voice was not her own, as though she had been stolen by something incorporeal, greedy and eager for existence. A dry, quiet laugh filtered along with the melody, before he saw her lean forward, smelling his neck. Tom forced himself not to flinch, keeping perfectly still.

                "Your heartbeat is so steady," she stated, matter-of-factly. "Why do you not fear me?" Her face traced up alongside his, their skin brushing for a moment. Despite trying to stop it, a shiver coursed up his spine.

                _Damn music._

                Her grip loosened on his jaw enough for him to move it, and so he did; "Because I know you won't hurt me. I trust you."

                She looked him in the eyes, her own an odd blending of red and blue, fluctuating. She leaned into him, smiling in a feigned reassuring manner. "Then you are a fool."

                Her lips brushed teasingly against his, and though he tried to draw away, he found he could not, and not _only_ for her hold on him.

                _Remember Becky…_

                But he found himself eerily powerless to stop her lips from claiming his in a hungry passion, an affection and need he seemed to return… before realising something wasn't right. He just couldn't figure out what all of a sudden, even as Mina's hand traced a line seductively along the side of his neck, up across his jaw, along his cheek, and finally trailing over his temple. He winced for a moment, captured in her hold and confused at his own flinch, small and sudden as it was. Her fingers ran back through his hair, playing through the locks, before coursing back towards his temple and down again.

                Slowly, Mina pulled back, leaving them both breathless as the piano began to climb towards a crescendo. Her hand drifted from his face, to bring her fingertips to her full lips.

                Blood… _his_ blood.

                Gently, she licked it from her fingertips, and gave a sigh, clasping him again, and forcing another kiss upon the American.

                He struggled when the coppery taste of his own blood met his tongue, foul and almost gagging. Her free hand was running across his neck again, even as he quickly came to a decision, using his unoccupied hand to snatch the Colt pistol from its waist holster.

                Quickly aiming at the source of the sound, he let off a shot, hearing the subsequent whine that followed the action. A second squeeze of the trigger ended all sound coming from the wounded phonograph, and instantly, Mina recoiled with a gasp.

                Tom panted, closing his eyes for a moment as he unsteadily replaced the pistol in its holster. It slotted away smoothly, and he bowed over a little way, letting out the deep breath he had sucked in.

                "Dear god… Tom, you're bleeding." Mina's voice was far from steady, but she did not step forward, staring at her staining fingertips. Her blue eyes drifted to his face and neck, perhaps instinctively checking to see if she had bitten him.

                Tom lifted a subtlely shaking hand to his temple. It was wet, warm and slightly sticky. "It's okay," he let out quietly. "You didn't bite me. You just reopened the wound, that's all."

                Mina had carefully removed the mostly intact disc from the broken gramophone, and held it cautiously in her hands for a moment, before forcefully throwing it across the room. It caught the edge of the portrait's frame, and shattered. One piece caught on the canvas, carving a slight flaw on Dorian Gray's otherwise perfectly depicted cheek.

                Tom look at the enraged – and in a manner of speaking, violated – vampire, before subconsciously asking, "You okay?"

                "I will choke the last breath from his cowardly body," she growled viciously. "Over and over again until he begs me to end him."

                So it _had_ been the music, not that the American hadn't figured that out anyway, despite not understanding how. Tom nodded, striding near to her, regardless of the attack – if you could call it that – from moments before, and its repercussions. They would pass, he hoped.

                "We'll think of something, Mina… we will."

* * *

                Dorian Gray flinched at once, shifting in his chair as a sort of sudden stinging attacked the left side of his face. He lifted a perfect hand, and traced a line on his cheek, bringing it away just subtlely tipped with red.

                "Hmm…" Now here was something the immortal did not see every day, if ever at all.

                Blood.

                Normally, wounds simply fell away in ash, leaving him perfect and flawless once again… but _this_… no. Nothing had struck him, not from what he could see, and then it hit him, suddenly, like a blow from a fist, and his eyes regarded the mirror across the room. He could see the cut now, as if from the tip of a knife or a broken glass edge… something sharp, but small.

                As he stared into the mirror, his own handsome face staring right back, the solution filtered into his ever-busy brain, and he sighed dramatically, fingering the pommel of his cane as one word slotted into place in his mind.

                Portrait.


	13. Dance With The Devil

**Author's Note:**  O.O  My god, it took me so long to update! Gah, cannot apologise enough, and only hope I haven't lost your attention  .  _::whacks self over head with frying pan::_  Bad Clez! Okay… enough of that. On with the extra long chapter as compensation. Things are finally starting to pick up! Squee!  .

**Leigh S. Durron:** That music seemed to send Mina bonkers _::stupid grin::_ Couldn't you tell? Heh. And yes, Dorian got hurt because of the painting  .

**TARilus:** Thank you. Dorian – as he will explain later – just wants to show Mina that he can still… what's the phrase… push her buttons, as it were. Dorian can explain it better, and with more venom, so I'll let him handle that later  .  Jerk is a little too mild for someone so wicked and conniving as Gray, don't you think? Hehe. Yup, Gray and Sawyer battle in the foreseeable future, but we've gotta work our way there. Sadly, can't do it yet. Oh yeah, Dorian-ass-kicking is needed, oh yes… and especially by the one he's been mocking. Uh huh.  .

**funyun:** Best chapter yet? Cool. Hehe, glad you loved it _::bows::_ I try my best. The whole Mina-music thing could have been a whole lot worse, yes. You were right about Ben. It's good ol' Ben Rogers from the books… I'd actually forgotten he was the first one to foolishly whitewash for Tom, hehehehe. And he did the steamboat impression _::snickers::_ Hehe, you must have the gift of foresight _::LOTR flashback, shakes head::_ Happy moment with the gun? Heh, good stuff. I'm reading the _Portrait of Dorian Gray_ now, yes. It's a very good book. Hehe, Monopoly money! _::gladly accept Monopoly money, and gives you ticket::_ 

**Mrs. Mina Harker: **Gah, sorry it took me so long! I'll let Dorian explain about the music later, 'kay?  .  And yes… everybody loves Sawyer/Mina relationship-ness! Heh…  o.O

**LotRseer3350:** Thanks, both about the chapter in general, and the trance. Sorry about the wait.

**Capt. Cow:** Glad you loved the chapters. Dorian… has a habit of grating on people's nerves, doesn't he? It's like a gift! Take the cherry off, and I accept your pretty please…  .

**Drowchild:** _::watches you::_ Hehehehe… I think she's gone barmy. Well, barmi_er_, anyway.  .

**Panzergal:** Hi, and welcome to the story. Thank you very much for your compliments. Here's the update.

**Graymoon74:** Glad you liked the recording. She did indeed 'totally kiss Tom', as you put it  .  Thanks, and enjoy the update!

**Sethoz: **On the edge of your seat? _::tips you back on, so you don't fall::_ Glad you enjoyed it. You may or may not be right with the music thing. You'll have to wait and see, heh. Mina and Tom kissing… don't we all love it?   O.o  And yes, I see what you mean, playing off Dorian and Becky… hehe, nicely spotted. _::watches you shake Tom, and steps in to intervene::_ Now, now, I need him, don't rattle his brains about!

And now, with my heartfelt apologies regarding the delay, here is Part 12 of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

                Panting heavily, perspiration beading his forehead – not the mention his chest and back – and exhaustion nearly boiling to the surface, Tom tore the sword upwards just in time to stop his opponent's weapon from crashing down against his skull. The metal sang madly as the blades collided and scraped together, and Tom winced at the loud sound that only intensified his headache. It seemed that since Mina had 'accidentally' reopened his head wound from the mutiny, he was getting the migraines a lot. A trip to Jekyll was in order, obviously. He had neglected to tell anyone _why_ it had reopened. When he had gone back to Jekyll after the incident involving the mysterious recording, Tom had claimed he had carelessly caught it on something, and done it himself.

                It was hard to tell if anyone believed him or not. Honestly, he didn't care, so long as no one persecuted Mina for it. It wasn't her fault. Or so he kept telling himself anyway. It was the music that had made her act so madly.

                _So long as you keep telling yourself that, you'll be fine_, his mind chattered annoyingly as his arms strained to keep Nemo's blade away from his head, and he was forced to bow it, and with a slight growl, he turned his body away quickly, swinging the sword he was using in a savage, swift arc.

                When he froze, Nemo's dark eyes regarded him with some triumph and bewilderment.  Then he smiled very slightly, and Tom looked to the position of his sword. Whilst Nemo's blade was still down at his side, lowered to where the force of following through after the American had turned had taken the weapon, Tom's own was at the base of the Indian's neck, perfectly positioned for decapitation.

                Panting heavily, and sweating – with his opponent annoyingly unaffected by the practise – Tom blinked once… twice, and opened his mouth slightly, as though to apologise.

                "Congratulations, Agent Sawyer," Nemo said to him earnestly with a slight inclination of his head. "Finally you have succeeded in doing what I suspected you capable of all along. It seems, with determination and persistence, anything is possible."

                Tom reacted after a moment, pulling the sword away, slowly at first, and then practically forcing himself to yank it away, and said, "Why didn't you stop me?"

                "Because I could not," Nemo replied, as though the question were completely unnecessary. "Not in the time allotted to me, that is. You were simply too fast, and it was unexpected." He smiled again. "Two steps ahead, Agent Sawyer… remember this; it will serve you well in the future."

                Tom stared down at the sword in his aching hands, stunned at what he had just accomplished, and then back at Nemo through a somewhat damp curtain of blonde hair, all over his brow. Was the captain telling him the truth, or simply indulging him?

                No… there were no indulgences in combat. Such a trick would throw Tom off in the future. Nemo would never do that to him, Tom knew. He was comforted by that fact, and suddenly felt a little more certain of himself. Eyeing the man who had trained him so adeptly in the use of the sword, he smiled slightly. "Thank you," he said earnestly, noting the Indian's regal bow of the head.

                "You are most welcome, Agent Sawyer. But remember… some opponents are not worth chasing into combat."

                With that cryptic message hanging in the air, Nemo sheathed his ornate sword, and strode from the room, leaving a bemused Tom staring after him with a furrowed brow.

* * *

                Becky sat huddled in the dark room with the door locked, and no windows to speak of, her arms hugged around her drawn up knees with her head leaning down, trying not to give in to despair at her situation. Something would happen… Tom, Huck and Joe would come, surely.

                Joe… she hadn't really thought about him in depth since their break up, and now she supposed she had time to do so. Raising her head a little, with blonde hair in her eyes – not that it mattered with the practically non-existent lighting – she took to thinking. True, she had been happy with Joe for a time, but she had known in her heart that she could never have spent the rest of her life with him. He wasn't what she had wanted. That had only ever really been one person, and one person alone, and she hoped he knew who he was. Ever since the tender age of eleven – or thereabouts; she could rarely remember the specifics – Becky had been somewhat besotted with Tom Sawyer, despite her overwhelming act of rage and discontent when it had come to his choice to leave, and when he had informed her – via a letter – of Huckleberry Finn's apparent death. She knew she had acted irrationally, and she hoped that she would eventually be able to take it all back.

                She didn't know how much time had gone past since her kidnapping. She could only guess, and her estimate was around two days so far. Becky had refused to eat or drink anything that Dorian Gray offered to her, though that had bored and irritated him to no end, it seemed. He had simply rolled his eyes and shut the door… and if it wasn't him doing the offering, it was his stupid servants. She didn't want their attention. She would rather starve or go thirsty… both, even.

                Becky took to pondering where the Nautilus, the _League_, and her fellow Americans could be about now, and figured – in her not quite so expertly geographical mind – that they had to be somewhere near London by now… didn't they? It surely couldn't take this long unless…

                What if something had happened to them? What if the men who had kidnapped her had done something to the Nautilus, or to the _League_ or… to Tom? She shuddered involuntarily at the thought, terrified of the concept of losing him so soon after getting him back, and gave a sob that escaped before she could stop it.

                That was when the handle on the door rattled, and she wiped the balls of her palms across her eyes to hastily clear the tears from her cheeks and face, reluctant to let anyone – _especially_ Gray – see her in a moment of weakness. She had barely shown _any_ so far, and didn't want to start now, of all times. It would give them – him – an advantage she didn't want them – _him_ – to have… not at all. He would abuse it, and twist it to use it against her and the others she had obviously been captured in order to lure.

                As the door opened inward, a sliver of light came with it, slowly growing and expanding, landing on her face and making her close her eyes for the intensity of it. It was obviously artificial, but it wasn't something she wasn't used to after being shut in the dark room for an unrecorded amount of time. She didn't like it one bit. She turned her face from the shaft of light, and shielded her eyes with a hand, even as the precise clicking of heels announced the approach of Dorian Gray.

                "I don't want to have to physically lift you from the ground, Miss Thatcher," came his slow drawl of English perfection. It aggravated her to no end that even his voice was immaculate, intended to be so soothing – and for a time, it _had_ been – but actually carrying a dislikeable hard edge that chilled her bones and twisted her stomach nauseatingly.

                Becky lifted her face, slowly in order to let her blue eyes gradually adjust to the light, and forced herself to stand in order to prevent him from having to touch her. He made her skin crawl, and she let her eyes pass over the furiously handsome features… and froze when she saw his left cheek. It was scratched.

                "Your face…"

                "… Is none of your concern," Dorian stated blandly, eyeing his hands idly for a moment, before the cool gaze landed upon her face again, and she shivered. "It is almost time for you to leave my company. I would say it is sad to see you go – such a lovely specimen of femininity that you are – but we both know that would be a lie. You have not appreciated what I was willing to offer you… hospitality and warmth. You shunned it, and so I shunned _you_. Perfectly reasonable, despite what you may think."

                "I don't care what you do with me," Becky hissed, trying to feign nonchalance and mix it with spite. She only managed the latter, and with quite an impressive amount of vehemence as well. She felt the anger bubbling up her throat as she spoke, just screaming to be released.

                "Oh, I know that, Miss Thatcher," Dorian sighed. "However, you _do_ care what I do with your precious Agent Sawyer. I imagine he will be one of those coming to 'rescue' you." Dorian rolled his eyes in the wan light, and chuckled quietly.

                Becky seethed, shaking with rage now, and glared icily at the man standing before her. "Don't you touch him."

                "I don't care to," he replied in a lazy fashion. "So long as he stays out of my way, I shall not touch a hair on his head." He laughed quietly again. "Though I can't say I wouldn't love to put the brat in his place."

                With a snarl – most unbecoming of someone like herself – Becky lashed out with a hand, intending to slap his face, but he snatched up a hand of his own, and grabbed her wrist firmly, giving it a slight, suggestive squeeze. She gasped, and before she could stop him, his other hand came up and caressed her cheek as he spoke, "But perhaps there is another way that I could teach him a lesson…" He practically purred as he spoke, seductive gaze travelling over her face and neck, down her body.

                Though she tried to stop them, the tears pushed to the surface again, and tumbled free.

                "I could have my way with you _right_ here, and he'd only know about it when he sees your eyes. The defeat and shame in them would be reward enough…"

                Becky gave a quiet sob, balled her fists, and screwed her eyes shut, trying to keep from hearing his voice.

                "Mr. Gray, sir… there is a messenger at the door," came the voice of the manservant, James, from just outside the room. "He states that your 'package' has come into the docks."

                Dorian grinned, seductive, handsome, and wicked. "Excellent," he stated, and stepped back from Becky. "Have Miss Thatcher left in the appropriate place, will you, James? You know what to do. And gather Mitesh and his men, if you would. They'll be needed."

                Without so much as a thank you to his compliant servant, Dorian was gone, leaving Becky to silence her sobs, even as James moved in to usher her away to wherever she was to be taken. As she was moved, she tried to fathom what this package could be… and then it hit her.

                The _League_.

* * *

                It was fully – as the phrase went – 'locked and loaded' that the _League_ strode out from the Nautilus' bowels, guns, daggers and swords – amongst other things – tucked away. One Winchester rifle and an ornate sword were not so easily hidden though, but Captain Nemo and Tom Sawyer showed no intention of concealing the weapons from view. They travelled in a tight-knit group as they moved further and further away from the 'safety' of Nemo's 'Lady', but not one scrap of hesitation showed on the collected faces.

                At least until Agent Sawyer turned and slowed anyway, finally matching pace with Mina. She was somewhat reluctant to walk with him after the unfortunate – and shameful – incident in her room, but tolerated the proximity nevertheless, if not for her own sake, or for his… then for the team's. If she understood correctly, no one knew of the kiss – among other things – whilst they had listened to the damned recording. It certainly was not something she wished to share or evaluate with the others.

                "Are you sure about this?" Tom asked after a moment, hesitant in turning his youthful gaze upon her. When he did, however, it was not in the least hateful or cynical. It seemed – though it was unfair to assume he didn't _care_ – that he was not fazed by the unprovoked attack attempt.

                Inwardly, she was warmed, relieved and comforted by this fact. On the outside however, she was perfectly nonchalant. Perfectly Mina. "I am certain."

                Tom's gentle green eyes turned fully on Mina as they drifted a little way behind the others. The vampire watched the space between them grow with silent contemplation, even as Tom said, "I won't let him take you. Trust me on that."

                Though she _did_ trust Tom Sawyer – quite possibly with her life and more – it was doubtful that he could successfully trick the ever-cunning Dorian Gray. The immortal had just – apparently – been around too long to fall for such trickery, and even attempting it could result in the unnecessary injury or death of someone Mina – or any of the others – held dear to her heart. Surely she couldn't allow such a rash attempt, just so Tom could save both Becky _and_ Mina. She could take care of herself.

                Her blue gaze met his, and she replied, "Sometimes the risk is too great, Agent Sawyer. These things must be considered carefully, and at great length. Far too little planning has gone into this, and I will not allow harm to come to anyone if it can be avoided by simply handing myself over along with the portrait."

                The American by her side furrowed his brow in a perplexed manner, glancing briefly ahead to the portrait that Skinner carried in front of them. "You're not suggesting–"

                "That I give myself over?" Mina eyed Tom carefully, studying the reluctance on his youthful, handsome features. "If it saves others… absolutely." Without giving him the chance to retaliate, she pushed forward, to catch up with the rest of the _League_.

                It was true that she was loath to once again be in the clutches of Dorian, but the life of Becky Thatcher was at risk, and she would not allow herself to be the cause of harm to the young woman. It was a simply solved situation, and she would see to it that it _was_ solved simply.

                By any means possible.

* * *

                As they came up on Melmoth House, Henry – who had never before seen the house of Dorian Gray – glanced to the others around him. He had been asked to relent from releasing Edward unless absolutely necessary. He was wary about entering the house of the immortal… should he drink the elixir?

                _"Yes, Henry… drink it. Let me out. You know you want to."_

                Unable to respond, Henry was forced to simply listen. His dark, pensive eyes gazed around at the gathered faces, even as the two new Americans withdrew twin pistols from their coats and holsters. Agent Finn reached around the back of his belt to take out guns similar to Sawyer's, and Agent Harper withdrew black pistols from his hips. He watched their readied actions, and cursed his inability to fight, other than using his vicious alter ego.

                _"Yes… I'm a vicious killer. But you **need** me, Henry… to fight your battles for you. You are too weak to do it yourself, and despite your good intentions and your values, you will continue to do so until the day we die."_

                "Shut up," he whispered to himself, glad no one – other than perhaps Mina Harker – heard him. They all ignored him if they had overheard, and glanced around to each other. Tom Sawyer and Mrs. Harker moved to the front of the procession, and Skinner stayed near to them, gripping the ornate frame – covered though it was – of the portrait of Dorian Gray. From the looks on everyone's faces, tensions were high, and senses were alert… it was atmospheric, and not in a pleasant way. Henry Jekyll did not like it. Not one bit, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

                Inside of him, Edward Hyde chuckled dryly, and Henry sighed, resolved to simply stay close to the rear, the silent presence, prepared to unleash the inner demon if so need be.

                _Please don't be needed, please don't be needed, please don't be needed…_

                They reached for the door.

* * *

                Tom grasped the iron handle to the door, and froze for a moment, looking meaningfully to Mina Harker, who nodded once, her hair taking on the slightest curl. He sighed, and opened the door, shocked to find it unlocked and ready for them to enter. He led the way in, with Mina right by his side as they stepped into the foyer of the old building near the waterfront of London docks. Skinner was right behind them, followed by Joe and Huck, and then Nemo and Jekyll brought up the rear.

                As they stepped further into the house, Tom subconsciously cocked the lever on his rifle, eyes scouring the ground floor of the building. He knew from past experience that most of the house was based in the upper levels, but that didn't stop him from searching the area around him for danger. When it appeared safe – or as close to safe as the residence of a treacherous immortal could be – they moved towards the stairs. Those with guns went first, with Mina always close to Tom, as if for protection. He appreciated it, and knew she could handle herself – especially given her imperviousness to harm – but he hoped she would know when to duck out of harm's way should something happen. Joe and Huck aimed ever upwards as they ascended, eyes keen and senses on high alert.

                Nothing loomed… at least, not yet.

                They were approaching the library area, where the first meeting of the _League_ – save for Dr. Jekyll – had taken place all that time ago, and Tom tensed at the prospect of what could be behind the doors. Mina reached forward, the American's hands occupied with the Winchester levelled at the ready, and she threw them open. They advanced, carefully, warily, and stepped into the light that illuminated the vast, tall room where the firefight had broken out with the Fantom's men. Tom's green eyes turned this way and that, breathing subtlely quickening at the prospect of combat, even as a voice sounded from behind one of the large bookcases that circled the room.

                It was when they saw him in his entirety that everyone in the _League_ – save for Joe and Huck, who had never before seen the immortal except for the portrait – froze, perplexed and stunned. Dorian smiled, free of facial hair, a kind of gentle chestnut brown altering the appearance of his still slightly curled hair, as it fell down to near his jaw. His face looked perhaps more youthful than before, and they could see his wicked, cunning smile for what it really was. Only his eyes had not changed, still cold and cruel, a dark brown that bore right through and into the soul. Mina faltered slightly, drawing in a stunned breath at his new appearance, and Tom furrowed his brow deeply, beyond confused, and trying to fathom the change. It was still Dorian Gray… they could still see his particulars, but he _had_ changed, inexplicably so.

                "I was beginning to lose hope that you would _ever_ get here."

                Dorian Gray. He stepped out with a dramatic motion from behind his concealment, and smiled that cocky grin in their direction, eyes landing on Mina and Tom at the head for a moment.

                "How 'lovely' to see you all again… and _alive_ too… quite a shock, for all involved, I'm sure." He chuckled quietly, and admired the ring on his hand for a moment, before his smile fell at once, and his penetrating gaze landed on Tom Sawyer and his aimed rifle… levelled right at the immortal's chest. "For the sake and benefit of _everyone_ involved, _boy_… I would lower, and put the safety back on that weapon you so cherish." His dark, mysterious eyes bore right into the American, and Tom did not waver for a moment, until Dorian sighed melodramatically, rolling his eyes. He snapped his fingers, and the mutinous crew – along with a few unfamiliar faces – emerged from up on the higher levels.

                _Déjà vu…_

                Tom sighed, and pushed forward the cocked hammer on his favoured rifle, never taking his gaze from the slippery character of Gray, as though he was up to something, other than an exchange.

                "Joe… Huck," Tom said quietly in gentle command, urging his friends to follow his lead. He heard the double snap of Huckleberry Finn heeding the plea, and the subsequent sound of metal on leather as they were slotted back in his belt holsters at the rear of his pants, perfectly and completely concealed behind the calf length black jacket he wore. Tom nodded without turning his head from Dorian.

                _C'mon, Joe… do it…_

                "Joe…"

                "Tom…"

                "_Do_ it, Joe…"

                Dorian arched a perfect brow in expectation, even as several of the guns held in the hands of the immortal's allies cocked and readied for shots, trained on the _League_.

                "_Joe_… put your guns away, or I'll do it _for_ you… you know I will. Now _do it_."

                With a reluctant sigh, Joe did as he was commanded, and the guns were holstered once more, much to Tom's relief.

                "Finally," Gray drawled, and took a slow step forward, hand finding the pommel of his cane, which had been propped against an armchair at the edge of the room. "And I have to say… I was surprised you actually came. No doubt you're concocting some hair-brained scheme in that American mind of yours." He chuckled again. "For the sake of the lovely Miss Thatcher – who I must add has been… 'delightful' company – I do hope you reconsider any attempts to trick or fool me. I want my property… and I will not hesitate to _take _it by any means necessary."

                "I know you'd sooner kill us all than have to fight for it, Gray," Tom bit back, venom seeping into his voice, and he narrowed his eyes just a fraction. "But something tells me you wouldn't be doing the fighting anyway." He glanced momentarily around. "How much are you paying them anyway? It'd have to be a lot to get them to betray Nemo…"

                Gray smiled victoriously.

                _Cocky bastard._

                "Enough," was his eventual reply, and Tom could practically feel the rage seeping out from the Indian man towards the rear of the group gathered. "Now," Gray began again, "I'm sure you're about as reluctant to make this any longer than it needs to be as I am. Should we proceed?"

                "Where's Becky?" Tom demanded viciously, glaring at the smug immortal.

                "She is safe enough," Gray replied lazily. "When I have what I want, I will leave, and you can locate her easily enough. She is in this very building… you have my word."

                "And we all know just how much _your_ word means, don't we?" Skinner grumbled, cocking his head in a sly fashion, and glaring from behind dark pince-nez in the direction of Dorian. The two stared at each other for a moment… the betrayer, and the blamed, eye to eye, and sizing one another up, meaningful and even – in Skinner's case – possibly murderous.

                Gray smiled. "Ah yes… I see you are still sore about my blaming you for betraying the _League_." He sighed, and tilted his head in a slight movement. "All is fair in love and war, Mr. Skinner… I expected a _thief_ to know that, at least." He clucked his tongue reproachfully, mocking Skinner, who clenched the frame of the portrait tightly, calling the immortal's attention to it at once. "Ah… I see you have my painting."

                "Yes I bloody well do," Skinner growled. "Though I'd love to see it burn in your fireplace… make quite a nice show, I think."

                "I don't think you would do that, Mr. Skinner," Gray said quietly, almost threateningly, with a vicious light in his eyes. Tom furrowed his brow as he listened. "I think, for the sake of the girl in my possession, you will step forward and hand that painting to Mina. Right. Now."

                Skinner hesitated, and then, with a thick air of reluctance, did just that. He offered it to the vampire, who took it carefully, her feminine hands clasping around the cloth covering the portrait, and taking it in her firm grasp as she glared coldly at Dorian.

                Mina started to move forward, slowly and carefully, looking up to the 'snipers' on the banisters above, perhaps recalling the incident before, with the Fantom and Quatermain, where it had all so eventfully started. She looked back at Dorian, and Tom's heart raced faster at watching her walk away, into the arms of the devil… or something very similar, as frightening as that concept was.

                Ever the gloater, Dorian continued to speak as Mina advanced on him, "I have to ask, do all Americans have such a rash fire as Miss Thatcher? She was quite adamant on causing me physical harm… silly girl."

                Everyone stayed quiet.

                "Even when I offered her… well… made her an offer, she still so viciously pushed me away. Quite hurtful and uncalled for really." He sighed with a lazy, bored shrug. "I mean, really… it was just a kiss after all."

                That was when Joe let out a yell, and tore a gun out of its holster, letting off a shot at Dorian, slamming the immortal's shoulder back with a rapid force that threw the snipers into disarray and confusion.

                Tom acted quickly, throwing a sharp glare at the rash Joe for a moment, before surging forward, and grabbing Mina's coat, roughly pulling her back towards the others, even as gunfire exploded from the snipers, tearing around them as they ducked behind some bookcases. "Joe, you idiot!"

                Joe threw a scolding glare back, and pulled out his other gun. Tom glanced to the startled Mina, who – he realised – had dropped the painting.

                Dorian was yelling for the snipers to be careful, even as he moved intently forward, and picked up the dropped portrait, holding it and glaring in their vague direction. Tom risked a glance around the bookcase, and saw the glint in Gray's eyes, before looking back to his fellows. "Skinner, find Becky. Joe, Huck, go with him. Nemo, Jekyll, see what you can do about the snipers. We'll try and get Gray."

                Mina grabbed him by the arm, and looked him square in the eye. "If he gets the chance, he _will_ kill you, Tom."

                Frozen by her use of his name for a moment, he nodded. "I know. Let's make sure he doesn't get the chance then, huh?" He flashed her a grin, and cocked his Winchester. Rolling out from behind the bookcase, his duster around his ankles, he aimed quickly, and let off a shot, and then another, and another. One, two, three snipers fell, one toppling over the banister after a moment of unsteadiness, and thudded to the floor, lying still. Before Tom could pull off another shot, Mina tore him back, even as bullets slammed forcefully into where he _had_ been standing. Hair in his slightly widened eyes, he glanced to Mina with a hurried, "Thanks." She nodded in acknowledgement, and Tom saw the shed leather coat and hat, the smeared greasy cloth and pince-nez that signalled Skinner's new invisibility. The others were gone as well, and Tom heard the frantic yell, and the clash of steel, as Nemo's presence was announced forcefully from above. Gunfire still sounded, but Tom recognised the resonance of regulation pistols for the Secret Service, and smiled.

                Now they needed to find Gray.

                Even as he thought this, he saw the glint off the pommel of Dorian's cane, as he retreated into an adjacent room to the library. Tom and Mina made pursuit, swift and with clothing billowing out behind them with their brisk movements. The noise around them was deafening and certainly reminiscent of the first group fight for the _League_. Tom was having flashes of memory as they moved, even as they entered the dark doorway where Dorian had been seen disappearing.

                "Tom," Mina said, close to him, quietly, "the rifle is too big and cumbersome. The pistols might be more advantageous in close quarters." Nodding, knowing she would be aware of the movement, even in the darkness, Tom did as she said, propping the rifle outside the doorway, concealed, and drew out his twin pistols.

                They moved slowly, carefully, and Tom wished for more light, unable to see much in the darkness. His heart was racing, and he prayed Dorian hadn't gone after Becky to teach them a lesson for their action where he had commanded obedience.

                _Please let her be okay…_

                Tom felt a hand brush against his arm, as he moved with the pistols readied but lowered, and couldn't decide whether it truly had been Mina who had touched him. He breathed quickly, even as he felt the contact again, firmer in its conviction this time, shortly before the hand gripped his arm, and turned him. He felt himself against the wall, even as lips pressed against his for a moment.

                "I am sorry, Tom," came her swift apology, before something struck Tom in the face, knocking him down, but not out. Colours swam in his vision, and he struggled to rise in his dazed – and utterly confused – condition, wincing and giving a light groan.

                "Mina?" he called quietly, and forced his eyes open, glancing around for any sign of movement in the darkness. "Mina?" he called, more urgently, and widened his eyes in realisation as to what she had just done. "Oh god… Mina!"


	14. Karma

**Author's Note:** Well, finally, another update from me. These seem to be taking longer and longer, don't they?  O.o I am trying, I promise. Everything is happening at once, and it ain't all positive, so… yeah. You don't want to hear that. Shout out time…

**LotRseer3350:** Mina is being silly. 'Nuff said, I believe, heh. The swordfight is not in the next few chapters, so hopefully that will give you an idea of the delay you can expect.

**Mrs. Mina Harker:** Yup, long chapter. Sadly, this one isn't so lengthy. **_Eternal Midnight_** should be coming soon, I should think… not long now anyway. I know about the times, and I really am sorry.

**Capt. Cow:** Hehe, smiling is good. Yes it is. Thank you for the compliment. Ack, no more cherries, please!

**Sethoz:** Uh oh… Sethoz hasn't got any fingers left! O.O Call an ambulance! Wait, maybe she can regenerate them…? Aww, your poor sister, heh. Thank you. Glad you loved it. And as for the book thing… not tellin'  XP

**Nimmo Gray:** I've been reading… books and magazines, heh. And if you want to know the answer to the question about the fight, then you should probably read the trailer _::nods::_ Not hurt Dorian…? You do realise that's asking a lot, right…? Heh.

**TARilus:** Thanks. Glad you liked the training. I really liked how Dorian used fencing techniques in the film though, despite Nemo being the better swordsman. But it is true that his immortality kicked in to help him, of course.

**Graymoon74:** Mina's gone nuts… simple as that. Hehe. Glad you find Becky awesome! It's a relief that someone is pleased with how I'm using her. Heh. Someone has to put Dorian in his place, right? So why not Becky? Well… she tries anyway.

**BloodMoonLycan:** Hehe, Tom vs. Dorian… everyone wants it. Good, good. Ooh, banners! Yay! Thanks!

**funyun:** Yup, you got the first ticket. Glad you liked the chapter. Ack, Dorian really having his way would have been awful! O.O Glad I didn't write that. I probably would have been murdered. Joe is a dork, yes… but he couldn't help it, bless 'im. Curse Mina for being heroic, 'eh? _::shakes head::_ Can't teach vampires sometimes.

**elvenmalka523:** I'm glad you enjoy the story, and I thank you for your compliments.

**Xaviere Jade:** Hi there, and welcome to the story. And yeah, you can't please everyone unfortunately, especially not with canon couples out of movies or TV… 'tis a sad truth. Thanks for the review!

And now, on with the show that is **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

                Joe, Huck and Skinner moved with practised stealth and caution through the upper levels of Melmoth House, the former two with pistols aimed at the ready, eyes darting around at the slightest sound or movement, and with the invisible thief prepared to offer assistance should anything happen. Skinner wished he had brought a coat of some kind, and he wasn't even sure if he had gotten all the paint off his face… he was pretty sure he hadn't, in his haste.

                Regardless of this fact, they pressed on, desperate to find Becky Thatcher safe and sound. Especially since her life was now under threat again after Joe Harper's retaliation regarding Dorian's sly attempt at irritation amongst the _League_. His gloating remarks certainly hadn't gone down well with Joe, that was for sure. Skinner – as he was sure everyone did – wished Joe hadn't reacted so fervently, but what was done was done, and they just needed to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible, and with as little bloodshed as they could manage.

                _And knowing Gray… that's going to be difficult_, he thought to himself, mentally scowling at the new and 'improved' look of the immortal. What had happened for his appearance to change so? Why was he different? Unable to fathom such things, Skinner kept his eyes peeled for any danger, and turned to look over his shoulder, letting out a gasp at the man sneaking up on them. Ducking into the shadows – and as he did so, giving Huck a helpful tap on the shoulder – Skinner waited to see what would occur, ready to lend a hand if need be.

                Huck tilted his head slightly to acknowledge the touch, and craned his neck subtlely to glance behind him, trying not to give away what he was really doing. Skinner watched the discreet change of grip on the pistols the shorter of the two Americans held, and then observed – with slight awe – how Huck twisted his body, lowered himself halfway to the ground, and proceeded to let off two shots into the man behind them, before Joe had even finished turning to look. The blue eyes of Agent Harper widened slightly, and then he grinned down at Huck, who stood, and readied his guns again, turning to go back the way they had been originally headed.

                "Thanks, Skinner," he said into the shadows.

                "Any time," Skinner replied, and emerged, following behind them on the way to find Becky. He tried to listen out for any audible signs of Becky Thatcher's whereabouts, but all he could hear was the breathing of the two Americans in front of him, as well as his own. He kept looking around him to see if he could find any more sneaky snipers trying to come up behind or around them out of shadow… and found himself wondering how Nemo and Jekyll were doing.

* * *

                He practically threw the book he had been holding, and watched with mild satisfaction and shock as it succeeded in knocking a man over the head, toppling them to the floor long enough for Nemo to deliver a conscious-stealing kick to their face, downing them indefinitely. The sword flashed menacingly in the light when it came to his mutinous crew, and they were soon backing down from the superior talents and fighting skills of their former superior. Henry just couldn't comprehend why the men – even with the promise of money for doing so – would betray the man they had devoted their lives to.

                Dorian Gray truly was a bastard, in all meanings of the word. He was a horrible, sadistic, vile man who only served to make Edward that much more eager to come out of Henry and seek bloody, messy revenge on the immortal for causing so much trouble in the first place. Henry tried to push down the urges, but found his hand reaching inside his jacket before he could really stop himself, clasping shakily around the vial of elixir he kept in the inner pocket.

                As he removed his hand, clasping the vial, fingers latched tightly but not painfully around his wrist, stopping him from removing the stopper. "Doctor… there is no need to release Mr. Hyde within such hazardous conditions. The ground may not support his weight, and the fight is over… we are victorious."

                Henry turned his timid eyes upon the relenting, surrendering forms of the still living forms of the mutinous crew, and the few helpers Dorian Gray must have hired from outside sources. Henry sighed, and pushed the vial back into his jacket, trying to stem the stream of curses from Edward inside his mind at having to be contained once again.

                _"I don't care what the man says, just let me the bloody hell out, so I can get that bastard Gray! He deserves to watch his own limbs being torn off, dammit!"_

                Hyde's bellowing did nothing to help the headache swelling in Henry's temples, and he wondered how the others were fairing, even as he looked over the banister at a slight crash down on the lower level. "Agent Sawyer!" he called, stunned to see the young man practically staggering out of the room where they had followed Gray. "What happened?"

                "Mina…" he mumbled quietly, glancing around him, his Winchester held roughly in one hand. "I lost Mina… she… she took off."

                _Literally?_ Henry foolishly found himself wondering, much to the momentary amusement of Edward, and then realised the slang behind the sentence. "… _Why_?"

                Sawyer closed his eyes, giving a low groan as he shook his head, before looking back up at Henry, who was starting to concern himself with the condition of the American below. "She must think that she'll be saving us if she sacrifices herself to Gray," he called up, obviously angry, from the sound of his voice. There was an edge to it that only worried the doctor further, and he made a point of rushing for the nearest stairs, heading down them carefully but briskly. Nemo remained above, to keep an eye on the surrendering attackers.

                "What _happened_, Tom? You look awful."

                "Thanks," was his immediate sarcastic reply, and then the American continued seriously, "Mina hit me… she landed a hit on me before I knew what was going on, said she was sorry, and then… ran. I lost sight of her. She went after Gray, I _know_ it, that son of a bitch."

                Though there was something in the green eyes that led Henry to believe Agent Sawyer had relented from telling something further about the situation, the doctor only persisted in asking his next question out of habit, "Are you all right?"

                "I'm fine," Tom insisted, and waved a hand. "Where're the others? Did they come back yet?"

                Henry shook his head. "Not yet. I heard a few shots a little while ago, but since then… nothing."

                That was when they heard the screaming, and Tom's head snapped in the direction it had originated at once, and he cried out, "Becky!"

* * *

                The ambush had been so quick that none of them had realised until it was too late. Huck, Joe and Skinner had walked to a room with a locked door, which they had proceeded to… well, kick down. Huck and Skinner had headed in, to comfort the distressed Becky, who was sat huddled in the corner, frightened and rather in a state of distress from the looks of things, whilst Joe had held back, for some unknown reason. Perhaps he was just overwhelmed with relief at seeing Becky alive and well… perhaps – as Huck suspected – it was because he was still fighting emotions for her.

                No one had been prepared for it, and by the time they had seen what was going on, Joe had already yelled out, and when Huck had turned, guns drawn, his friend had been swarmed by about half a dozen large men. Joe tried defiantly and courageously to throw and fight them off anyway he could, but he just wasn't strong enough, as Huck knew. Joe was built for speed, if anything, not a physical fight.

                "Joe!" Huck yelled, and burst forward to help, even as Becky screamed, scrambling to her feet, only to be grabbed and held back by Skinner.

                "No!" he told her sternly. "Stay here; let Finn handle it!"

                _Oh, fantastic_, Huck thought, sarcastically, and somewhat pessimistically, and slammed into the nearest ambusher, smashing him right off, and subsequently, to the ground… only problem being that Huck went with him, not allowing the man a retaliation by lashing out with a quick boot action, and catching him in the jaw, throwing his head to the side, and his consciousness fled him.

                The situation only intensified – and not in the positive way – when Joe let out a horrific wail that caused Huck's innards to freeze with fear. He stopped, like a frightened, cornered animal, and looked to his friend, who had been overpowered by the remaining men. He was lying mostly on his side, covering his head, and with… a knife, sticking out of his upper left leg, up to the hilt.

                With a savage yell, Huck threw himself upon the next attacker, and laid into them with vicious punches to the gut, chest and face… anywhere he could land a blow. He was so busy pummelling the man he had pinned, that he only recognised the gunfire on the third powerful shot, which blasted the penultimate man into the room, and away from the wounded Joe. The man slumped to the floor, a gunshot wound in his chest, bleeding madly; a fatal blow.

                Tom collapsed at Joe's side, along with Jekyll, who immediately looked to the knife, and touched the grip of the weapon tentatively. The medically trained eyes of the doctor scanned the injury as Tom spoke quietly to Joe, telling him to keep still, and that everything would be fine. The wound was far from fatal, but the blonde American was always – and had _always _been – concerned for the well being of fellow agents.

                Becky came rushing to their side, with Skinner not far behind, close to Huck, who was panting heavily from the exertion of battling the attackers. The man he had last pounced upon had been struck into unconsciousness, and now Huck's fist was somewhat sore. It wasn't that he was an unhealthy individual, but so soon after being permitted back into service… this was a lot to take in.

                "The blade has penetrated right up to the hilt," Jekyll reported grimly. "I need to get him back to the Nautilus immediately to remove it and treat the wound successfully." He glanced to the others, and landed his eyes on Tom. "What will we do about Mrs. Harker?"

                Nemo was the one to respond to this, interjecting before Tom could force the answer through his open mouth; "We will abandon this place for now. I wish to stay here no longer, and if Mrs. Harker has truly fled from us and to Gray, then she is beyond our grasp for the time being. We will find her again," he added before Tom could protest. "But for now… we must return to the Nautilus."

                With that, Nemo, Jekyll and Skinner carefully helped Joe off the ground, avoiding further injury by keeping him properly balanced and assisted. Tom stood from the ground, and then clearly felt someone touch his arm. Huck watched as his best friend turned, and then seemed to remember what they had come for, throwing his arms around her and pulling her close, almost dropping his rifle. Huck stepped forward and pulled it free, smiling at the affection.

                Tom closed his eyes and buried his face in Becky's shoulder, breathing out a sigh of relief as he muttered, "Thank god you're all right."

                Huck stayed with them whilst they embraced, hands positioned appropriately and readily on the Winchester – so comfortable and familiar in his grasp – should anyone attempt an ambush again…

* * *

                It was out in the misty dark of the alley beside Melmoth House that she found him, leaning against the brick and stone walls of the building running alongside him, twirling the beautiful, silver adorned cane in one hand, the other smoothing down the trim of his formal jacket. He was irritably handsome as he propped himself gracefully upright, perhaps more dashing and charming in appearance than she had ever seen him, his face free of the 'smug' moustache and beard that she had so grown to despise. Now he was youthful, perhaps more than ever, and… _almost_ flawless.

                On his left cheek, she could see a gash, and for a long time as she stood there in the evening air, staring at him, she simply remained silent, unable to fathom the reasons behind why this simple cut had not been disintegrated. Why had it not fallen away into ash? Why did it remain?

                And then she saw it… leaning carefully against the wall just behind him was the covered frame of the large portrait that they had returned to him, along with the vampire herself. Then it hit her, and she started forward intently, muttering, "The painting."

                The cocking of guns made her freeze in place, refusing to move as she cast her keen blue eyes about her, making out the figures of gunmen positioned stealthily in the shadows.

                "Dear Mina… surely you didn't think I left all my workers to perish in that old house… did you?" He smiled, a cocky, mocking expression that she just wanted to slash right off his features.

                But his cheek… she had remembered gashing that side of his portrait with the record he had sent her, and then she recalled the burning question. "The recording…"

                "Beautiful wasn't it?" Dorian drawled, tilting his head to allow newly-mahogany locks to topple around perfectly chiselled features, his brown eyes cutting through the shadows like the sharp edge of the sword concealed within the cane he held. "Of course… the music was not my only gift to you, dear Mina. I had a close friend of mine plant a subliminal message beneath the first layer… in order to draw out your more… primal instincts." He chuckled quietly, and lowered his gaze as Mina Harker snarled angrily, drawing the attention of the marksmen once more. "But it was not my intention to have you harm yourself of course… but simply to remind you…"

                In the subsequent, hovering silence, her mind started to run, and she could take it no longer. "Remind me of what?"

                "To remind you… that I _know_ you… I know everything you are, and how to control you." His smile had fallen somewhat, and he was left appearing quite devious and even eerie in the moonlight. "You _are_ mine, Mina… and I will show you that once again."


	15. Open Your Eyes

**Author's Note:** Ack! So long since I updated this story! I had major writer's block – sorry! You know I mean it… and I seem to be struggling with this one, but I **will** get through it. I've got my own shit going on at the moment, and I thought that – whilst my modem is less than alive – I would have a go. I recently finished _The Picture of Dorian Gray_, and I highly suggest –even if you're not a Dorian fan – that you read it… very good _::__smiles::_ Sorry, I'll shut up now.

**funyun****:** Yup, you got the first ticket. I'm glad you feel sorry for Joe. That was my intention. Poor guy. It definitely wasn't his day. I can't remember what I made Huck do, but he's not a big guy in my head (based on Breckin Meyer of Road Trip fame), so he's rather nimble and agile. Rolling and flipping around, taking the suckers out, you know? Funny that you think of POTC, cuz that's the inspiration soundtrack for this fiction actually. I write better with it on, heh. I love playing with Jekyll's inner demon… it's so fun. _::smiles::_ Glad I can pull it off. Perhaps Tom was on the scene of that scuffle too quickly, I know, but short of… oh I don't know what I'm saying. Sorry if that wasn't right for you. Hehe, foreboding alarm… I like it. _::gives Dorian a good kick in the behind::_ Good enough for you? Here's the new chapter. Sorry for the wait.

**elvenmalka523:** It is chilling isn't it, and I'm glad you find it exciting. Hit on both of my goals there, which is always good. I think Dorian has a knack for pushing the wrong buttons, don't you? Heh. Thank you for the compliments, sorry for the wait, and here's the update.

**BloodMoonLycan:** Yes, he is smarmy, heh. One royal ass-kicking coming up… sometime in the near future. Sadly, not this chapter. Here's the new chapter, and sorry for the wait.

**Nimmo Gray:** I'm glad you like how I brought Dorian back. Did you mean you didn't like it as in you thought it was underhanded, or because… it just didn't flow? Either way, fair enough. Thanks, here's the update. Sorry for the wait.

**Sethoz:** Glad you liked the chapter, Sethoz, buddy, that's comforting. It's a win-lose situation. They got Becky back, but lost Mina in the process. He is creepy, yes, I'm glad you think so. Go, LXG, save Mina! GO! Sorry for making you wait.

**Capt. Cow:** Yay, no more cherry! I don't like cherries _::__pulls face::_ Glad you liked the chapter. Sorry for the delay.

**Leigh S. Durron:** Evil Dorian… it's perfectly natural for him to be evil, and now I understand him better after finishing the book, so… yay! Heh, it's disconcerting when the bad guys are good looking, huh? Poor Joe, indeed. Poor guy can't get himself any slack. Thanks for the review, and sorry for making you wait.

**LotRseer3350:** Glad you found the chapter interesting. Not going to be so easy? You'll have to wait and see, but I'm sorry I made you wait so long. Hope you can forgive me.

**Graymoon74:** Dorian is a bastard, isn't he? A good smack? I shall have to let Mina know to give him one… might make more of a difference than with what Becky did. Thanks for the review, and my apologies for the wait.

**drowchild****:** This wasn't soon, was it? Ugh, I'm sorry. Mina is a heroine down inside, we all know it. She wanted to protect her friends and her team mates. And she did whack Tom, yes. Glad you liked the bit you mentioned, wasn't sure on the flow of it, or how I made Tom act. There was always that tension between Dorian and Mina, and I can't help but play with it, hehe. Thanks for the review, here's the update, and my apologies again.

**Sweetdeath04:** Go easy on Mina? But, my dear reader, I am an angst-addict, savvy? You shall learn this in good time, but I always – usually – make it all better in the end – sometimes – but… that didn't help, did it? I'm now reading 'Dracula' myself actually. What I've read is very good. Sorry for the wait.

**TARilus:** Dependable? Dorian Gray? Well, yes, in the manner you explain, this is very true. Heh, gives smug bastards a bad name, I like that. Hyde did sort of meet Gray, but not for very long, in the ice room. But apart from that, you're right. It was – for the most part – as you said, Gray and Jekyll. Glad you think the Mina thing was dramatic. That's comforting. And you **_know_** how cool your little review taglines are! God dammit, too cool! . Sorry for making you wait.

**kingleby****:** Heh, don't kill Dorian _just_ yet, I still need him, as daunting as that sounds. Without him, the story ends, savvy? Heh. And yay, Tom has Becky back. Sorry for the delay.

And without any further inexcusable or unbearable delay or ado, here in Chapter Fifteen of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

                Becky sat at Joe's bedside, watching him sleep, and frowning. He had been hurt trying to help her, and naturally, she felt guilty for that. Why wouldn't she? It was a perfectly natural reaction, and one she was most definitely succumbing to. Tom and Huck had assured her it was not her fault, but she had ignored them both.

                Sighing lightly, she reached out, and took a hand in hers, saying, "Sorry, Joe." She had hurt him more than once. This recent injury – though it was far from fatal, he would definitely be feeling it for a while – and the wounding of his heart when she had cast him aside in favour of Tom Sawyer, whom she had felt passionately about since childhood.

                She leaned forward in her chair slightly, and wondered what would happen next. Would they go after Gray? Would they try to save Mrs. Harker? What were they to do? She knew, in her heart, she wished to help the woman who had given herself over in trade for her, but… she was frightened, and wanted nothing more than to curl up in Tom's arms, or go back to Missouri.

                Everything was so much simpler in Missouri. Why did things have to get so complicated?

                Watching Joe sleep, she pondered the situation, wondering if they had gotten into more than they had bargained for… which was obvious, but… did she really want any of this? The danger, the threat, the peril, and the jeopardy to those she loved. She had almost lost Huck before, and was in no hurry to go through that agony again.

* * *

                He narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow as he heard the noises upon passing, and advanced on the doors, closed though they were, and pressed an ear to the wood, trying to identify the noises from within. If possible, his brow furrowed even further, and he muttered a confused, "What the…?"

                It wasn't that he had never heard noises of the kind before, it was just the timing and the exact particulars about them that Huckleberry Finn didn't understand. Though it was muffled, and not exactly pinpointed, he thought he recognised the noises and the slight voice details from inside.

                Hesitantly at first, he reached down to the handle, and opened the door, poking his head in. He quirked a brow with intrigue, curiosity, and even concern, before pushing inside, and watching with a cocked head.

                From watching the blade specialists in the Service in their sparring and training, Huck could identify and recognise the movements and determination in his friend's form, and what it was he was doing. Tom was going through motions with a sword in his hands… though Huck was swarmed with confusion. Tom Sawyer was a marksman… not a swordfighter. What was he doing… and why?

                Tom spun, and thrust out with the sword, before freezing, obviously worn due to the heaving of his chest, before he turned his dishevelled head to regard the shorter agent, asking, "Huck… what're you doing here?"

                Huck tilted his head the other way, saying, "Watchin' you… what are _you_ doing?"

                Tom – seemingly subconsciously – twirled the sword around with a deft flick of the wrist, panting just audibly now, and Huck noticed that the sleeves on his shirt were messy, rolled up even further than normal, if that was possible. His waistcoat and pistols had been removed as well, and Huck thought he could see evidence of perspiration on his friend's form. "What does it look like I'm doin'?"

                Huck crossed his arms over his chest, and relaxed against the wall a little to regard Tom curiously, and replied, "Well, it looks to me that you might be training with a sword… but that don't make sense to me. See, the way I understand it, at least, how I _used_ to understand it… you're a gunfighter, Tom… what're you doin' with a sword?"

                Tom's somewhat narrowed eyes turned to Huck as he moved to replace the weapon on the wall rack, speaking as he did so, "Just furthering my skills, Huck, that's all."

                Huck bit on his bottom lip pensively, eyes down turned as he thought, mind skipping back to the encounter with the immortal and the whole exchange at the house down the docks from them at this very moment. "Correct me if I'm wrong… but ain't Dorian Gray a swordfighter?" It was a stab in the dark, but Huck had a hunch. His hunches quite often turned out to have some basis in reality… at least, that was how it had been in the past. He hoped he hadn't lost his touch.

                Tom stopped, facing away from Huck, and that was when the younger man thought he might have hit home on the subject. Tom couldn't seriously be entertaining the idea, could he?

                "What about it?" Tom inquired, eyes still avoiding looking to his companion as he donned his waistcoat again, although it was distractedly that he did so, his movements slow, drawn out, almost as if he were lost in his own thoughts.

                "Tom, you can't seriously be thinkin' about goin' up against him…"

                Their eyes met then, and Huck saw the determination and fire in his friend's gaze, recognising it from their experiences together. It had intensified since the older man's childhood, but Huck knew it well enough to place it in an instant.

                "Don't take this the wrong way, Tom… you're my best friend, you always have been, but _think_ about it for a minute, all right? Dorian Gray… he's dangerous, you said so yourself. Is it really worth risking your _life_ to go after Mina? You said so back at the house, she willingly went to him, didn't she?"

                "Yes, to protect _us_," Tom retaliated, and Huck internally winced. He hated confrontations with Tom. They were rare, but they happened.

                "Well then respect her decision, Tom… please. Becky only just got you back, and I know for a fact she can't lose you again… neither can I."

                Huck hated to do that to Tom; put that pressure on him, but if it was the only thing that might influence his friend enough into a decision, then he hoped it would help. Though he felt guilty for doing it, he wanted to protect Tom. He was strong, yes, but in a fight with Gray… he'd be killed, for sure.

                Tom turned his gaze away again, and looked back to Huck after a moment, wherein a sigh was heard, low and quiet, but deafening in the otherwise silent room. "I have to help her, Huck… Mina… she's a friend."

                Huck pushed off from the wall, lightly, and advanced on his blonde companion. "Tom… you'd never lie to me, right?"

                "Of course I wouldn't."

                "Good… Mina Harker… what does she mean to you?" He cocked his head, lifting his eyebrows. "Don't look at me like that, Tom Sawyer… I know you; you're tryin' to avoid the question. Just answer me… think about it first, but tell me what you really feel for her." Sighing lightly, Huck continued, "I've seen the two of you together… and I've seen you and _Becky_ together, both in the past, and recently. Now, don't get me wrong, the two of you are… sweet together, pretty damn good actually, when you're not fightin' or makin' each other cry, but… when you're with Mrs. Harker, I see somethin' in you that I thought you lost a long time ago."

                Seriously, eyes locked with the younger man, Tom asked, "And what is it that you see, Huck?"

                Huck set his jaw, and squared his shoulders, knowing for a fact – as he always had – that he was a good few inches shorter than Tom, before he answered confidently, "I see content, Tom… you haven't been content in a long time, but when you're with Mrs. Harker, there's a peace in you that… well… you need to hold onto it, okay?"

                "What're you sayin', Huck?"

                "I'm saying…" Huck heaved in a deep breath, uncrossing his arms and laying one hand on Tom Sawyer's arm in a supportive, brotherly fashion, "that you need to have a serious talk with yourself… and figure out which of these two women you need to let down, and which one to… spend the rest of your life with."

                Offering a lopsided and heartfelt smile, Huck turned slowly, and walked from the room, running his hands through his tousled brown hair once he was out of the door, hoping he had helped to sort some of Tom's confusion for him. Huck had always partially prided himself on being a decent judge of character, but… he just hoped something he'd said had meant something to his friend.

* * *

                When he started to regain his grip on consciousness, the first thing he became aware of was the gentle grip on his left hand, fingers curled in his as he lay there, slowly opening his eyes, and looking in that direction. When his gaze landed on the origin of the contact, he smiled wanly, slightly groggy still, and sighed. Though his leg obviously pained him, he barely felt it for the wonderful distraction at his side.

                Becky had obviously fallen asleep, with her hand curled in Joe's, and the agent could see the gentle rise and fall as she breathed rhythmically. She looked so peaceful; face rested on her other hand carefully, her blonde locks tumbling innocently around her cheeks and shoulders. She _looked_ harmless, yes, but from times in the past where he had made her angry or upset, well… he remembered the stinging in his cheek from those incidents, and knew better than to irritate her intentionally. She was stronger than she looked, and he supposed that worked in the woman's advantage.

                 _She's so beautiful_, he thought to himself, and turned his eyes away, the jealousy burning in him again. Tom Sawyer didn't realise how lucky he was, to have Becky. Joe had had her once, but… he knew better than to hold out hope of ever having her again. Her heart belonged to someone else, and he had to – no matter how much he hated it – respect that. But regardless of how hard he tried, he couldn't stem his feelings for her. He knew just _how_ beautiful she was, and not just in the physical sense either.

                Sighing, he lay back against his covers and pillows, and just settled for watching her sleep, reminiscing on times when they had been together, and – for a time, or so he thought, at least – in love.

* * *

**A/N2:** God, I know that was a short update, but I just had to give you something to show I hadn't given up on this story. I'm just getting stuck on it, so I thought I'd let you know it is still very much alive, and will still progress… don't give up on me yet!


	16. Smokescreen

**Author's Note:** Suddenly got inspired to write some more of this. About damn time, is all I can say. My apologies for the wait. I've lost track of the updates now… I am ashamed.

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**Nimmo Gray: **I'm glad you liked Huck's speech. _::hugs Huck::_ I'm getting so very fond of him… gah, it's really weird. And don't worry about the ambush thing, it's fine.

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**kingleby****:** Who will he choose indeed? Guess you'll have to wait and see. Glad you like the characters; very comforting as an author to hear that. Especially since they're not exactly mine, but to hear something like that… phew, weight off my shoulders.

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**elvenmalka523:** Thanks for what you said. Made me smile. Writer's block does indeed suck, and I despise it… growl. _::grabs her stick::_ Get away from me, Block of Doom! Rawr!

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**Capt. Cow:** Ah, my romance fan. Howdy. Woohoo! Burn the cherries! BURN THEM ALL! … Ahem, I'm fine. Who's to say what Tom's thinking about… maybe Huck was just taking a wild stab in the dark? _::shrug::_ Guess I should know, huh? Heh.

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**funyun****:** Glad you got excited cuz of an update. Complicated isn't the word… I'm in complete agreement about the love… shape. The talk… glad – so very glad – that you liked it. I was sitting here thinking, 'gah, I'm stuck… I know! A Huck ramble!' Cuz I'm evil, and devious and stuff… aheh. And remember, opposites attract, do they not? Heh. Of course I don't hate you for a rant… rants can be fun!

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**Graymoon74:** GM! Seems like I haven't read anything from you in a while. Starting to miss you! Sorry about the long updates _::__winces::_ Sorry! My bad!

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** : **(cuz you left no name) Pummelling Dorian…? Probably not the best idea. He's not in the best mood right now… aheh. I seem to have irritated him. Leaving him for Tom is a good idea, yes. And don't worry… it's coming… slowly.

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**TARilus:** And finally, my good buddy, TARilus. Preparation, preparation, preparation (that's very hard to type out three times, guh). Glad you were satisfied with the Tom training anyway, and to make up for the wait, there's some of what you want in this chapter. Don't worry. Thanks for the comment about Huck's… comments. Heh.

And here we have it. Finally, another update of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

Mina's eyes flashed red as she turned to him, her skirts twirling airily around her legs and high-heeled boots as she did so, hair free of its pinnings, and she growled, a low and threatening sound that warned him not to come near her. She was like a cornered animal almost, on her guard, and vicious.

Dorian stood looking at her, raising an eyebrow in what he obviously perceived was a seductive manner. "I don't doubt they will try and track you, dear Mina, but I plan to keep them back at every turn. I have men hired throughout the city, at least until we can arrange to get away from here."

"You speak as if I would accompany you willingly," Mina hissed, narrowing her eyes dangerously, head lowered just a fraction in what he should recognise as a warning motion. Her entire body posture screamed at him to keep his distance, though she knew he would push his luck, be true to his cocky manner, and attempt it anyway. It was in his nature to do so.

"Oh, my dear–"

"_Do not _call me that, Gray," she snarled.

Dorian turned his gaze from her, feigning offence, before he sighed out, "Very well, Mina. I shall refrain from doing so at your wish… but I know you will accompany me, if not for the love I know still resides in your heart, then for the safety of those creatures you call your 'friends'." His smile made her teeth grind in fury, and she wanted nothing more to claw it right off his face.

"You will not touch them…"

"No… I will not. If they keep away, and you do not prove to be a discomfort, or troublesome, then I will not. You are quite correct. I have no energy to pester them if they do not cause me a nuisance, but…" He sighed, almost regretful. "A man must do what he must… agreed?" He quirked a brow again, lean and finely shaped. He was still as vain as he had ever been. A second – possibly third – chance had taught him nothing, it seemed.

Dorian sidled closer to her, graceful – annoyingly so – in his movements, and he came to a stop little more than two feet from her, dark eyes piercing in their intensity, as he said slowly, meticulously, "Being immortal teaches one to have patience." There was no cocky, knowing smile, only simple confidence in his finely chiselled features.

"You have no patience… you never had any before. Why now?"

"Time and patience will teach you to remember…"

Mina growled anew, distaste burning on her face, and in her blazing eyes as she said, "You speak of love…" She spat the words almost as if they were foul upon her tongue, and she wished for nothing more than to be rid of them before they caused her to retch.

Dorian moved until they were almost touching, noses an inch apart, and she could feel his breath upon her own lips, though her eyes bled crimson once again, even as the immortal said in response, "I speak of destiny."

Mina moved to shove him back, but he grabbed her quickly, and in a rush of motion, had forced his lips to hers, kissing her forcefully, and even violently, and she hurriedly fought him back, throwing him away, and his left shoulder struck the doorway near to him. There was the slight telltale sound of some kind of injury that would cause Dorian discomfort, but he merely grimaced, and glared at her.

"You _will_ learn, Mina… even if only the hard way."

"I will never learn these lessons of love or destiny you so frivolously speak of, _Dorian_," she retorted, her words laced in deadly venom.

Dorian chuckled dryly, shaking his head, almost as if disappointed. "Oh… yes you will. Soon you will see, and soon you will wish that you had simply opened your mind. Whatever happened to the curious vampire I was intrigued by? Where did she go? Who has taken her from me?" He paced towards her, though she held her ground. She was not afraid to strike, should he get too close. "Where now are the loving blue eyes that once gazed into mine so affectionately and even mischievously? What happened to the Mina Harker I fell for?"

"She opened her eyes…" Mina stared at him stubbornly and resolutely. "She now sees this man for what he really is… and always was, and _will_ be. She sees him, his heart, blackened and withered… his mind, conniving and twisted. The hollow shell where his soul once resided, and the cruel cunning in his eyes. She sees the monster within Dorian Gray."

Dorian's face lost all traces of poetry or grace, and he sighed heavily, before he reached up and grabbed her by the back of the neck, pulling her face to face with him again. "We shall see who is the monster… let us not forget which one of the two of us relies on _blood_ to live… _dear_ Mina."

With that, he threw her to the side, using all the strength in his left arm to do so, and unprepared – even with her supernatural senses on her side – Mina felt herself propelled in that direction, unable to stop her movement. She felt herself land on something relatively soft, something that registered in her rushing mind as a bed, and she rolled, coming up into a crouch, even on the manipulatively bending mattress, just in time to see the heavy door clang closed on what was to be her prison. She growled loudly, fangs exposed, eyes bleeding savage red once again as she saw Dorian look at her through a small – irritably so; no bat would fit through there – barred opening at head height, saying, "Well shall see, Mina…"

With that, he withdrew, leaving her alone in the room, which was suddenly cast into darkness from an outside source, and her head turned this way and that to try and identify some small offering of light, to which she received no reward. The room had been thrown into an oblivion of darkness, shadow and solitude, and her growl quickly died away when Dorian's words sank into her mind.

She knew what he meant to do to her, and she knew that – given enough time – it would drive her mad…

* * *

Nemo paced outside the cells, his mind running over what had happened as of late, and he sighed wearily. The thought that his own crew could betray him was a deeper wound than any other conceivable. Even for money, why would they do such a thing? He had picked the most loyal and trustworthy men available… hadn't he? Gray had gotten to them somehow, and his hatred for the immortal intensified madly. His left hand clenched over the hilt of his sword.

It was as his musings were overtaking reason that Skinner appeared beside him, donning his jacket and sighing. "Still haven't decided what to do with 'em yet, then?"

Nemo did not start. He had trained himself sternly over the years not to react in such a manner, and simply turned dark, pensive eyes upon the floating jacket that was the only sign of the thief's presence. "I am, as of yet, undecided, Mr. Skinner, yes."

If Skinner nodded, Nemo could not tell, before he continued briskly, "But if we are to have any chance of learning the position of Gray and Mrs. Harker, then I must question them."

Skinner surprised him then by asking, "Need a hand?"

Nemo looked to the jacket, and where he assumed the eyes of the thief to be, wondering if Skinner ever grew agitated that he rarely received solid eye contact with people due to his condition, and replied, "I am capable of questioning my own men… but you may assist in being present, Mr. Skinner, thank you."

Skinner spoke quietly, almost reluctantly, "Glad I can help."

With that, Nemo unlocked the door to the cells – which were very rarely used and built only as a precaution – and stepped inside, Skinner behind him.

* * *

"C'mon, buddy, you can do this."

Joe threw a gentle glare at Huck, and swung his legs off the bed. The injured one ached madly, but he refused to let it show on his face, and took a deep, soothing breath to ease it. Becky watched intently, concerned, and seemed ready to jump forward and cast him back into bed if the situation called for it.

Huck was holding a pair of rather awkward looking crutches out to Joe, who regarded them almost reluctantly for a moment. But then again, he had been in bed and out of action long enough… though it hadn't been that long. He had sworn to Jekyll he would keep pressure completely off the leg, and his constant hounding had seemed to overthrow the doctor's will. Jekyll had consented to let him out, so long as he kept someone near him at all times in case, and if the strain got too much, he returned immediately. He had agreed to that, and here he was, about ready to hop down from the bed, and take the crutches.

Which was when Tom entered the room. Joe wasn't sure what to think about his friend, but he offered him a smile anyway, one that was wanly returned. Tom strode further into the room, and asked, "Did I miss something?"

Becky turned her head to Tom, and smiled at him warmly. Joe pretended not to see it, even as the woman said, "Jekyll's letting Joe out of the infirmary. He's gotta use the crutches though, so we're just seeing if he can manage."

"'_He's_' sitting right here," Joe said with a feigned annoyed rolling of his eyes, "and he can hear you. And I'm fine… and I can manage."

"And you'll live to fight another day," Huck rambled, "Just hurry up already." He laughed playfully, as was his manner, and offered the crutches forward anew. "Don't make me tease you again… not that I don't enjoy it."

Joe narrowed his eyes, but couldn't stop the smile from forming, even as he reached out and took the crutches in his hands, forcing himself up on his good leg, and balancing, using the supports provided. Huck, Becky and Tom watched him, and he couldn't help but think that he was on display somehow. It was rather unnerving.

"There? Everybody happy now? Joe can manage."

Huck laughed, crossing his arms as he watched. "For now, yeah, when you're standin' still, but can you _walk_ on 'em?"

Sighing, with another roll of his eyes, Joe began to hobble forward on the crutches, feeling the weight of his torso supported solely on his arms with each alternate 'stride'. It would take some getting used to, but a lot of things in life were like that, he supposed. "Happy _now_?"

Huck put on a pensive expression, feigning thoughtfulness, and then grinned. "For now. I'm still going to see how long it takes for you to fall over, though."

Becky swatted at Huck's arm, and the youngest agent laughed mischievously. "I never said I'd _push_ him, did I?"

"That's not the point, Huckleberry Finn, and you know it," Becky retorted, jabbing a finger, though there was a faint twinkle in her eyes that suggested a smile loomed under the surface of the exterior. Joe couldn't help but be warmed by that. Tom was standing silently and somewhat gloomily at the back of the small gathering.

"You okay, Tom?" Joe asked out of habit, having a feeling he already knew the answer.

"What? I'm fine… Nemo's interrogating the crew who mutinied."

Joe nodded slowly, less than thrilled to hear the news. It made very little difference to him why they did what they had, so long as they got what they deserved… to sound harsh. But it seemed that Tom was obsessed – or becoming as such – with this situation. True, Mina was his friend, and he had ever right to be worried, but wasn't she a vampire, and therefore immortal?

Joe couldn't help but think somewhat cynically though. Hadn't they just rescued Becky from Gray? And hadn't he just been injured in the attempt? It seemed Tom was too distracted to realise this though, and that actually offended Joe somewhat. But he kept silent for now, his opinions kept to himself. "Did he say how long it'd take to learn anything? If he does, that is…"

Huck offered Joe a sceptical and even suspicious glance at that comment, but remained quiet.

Tom shook his head. "No. He shouldn't be too long though. If Nemo is going to get his way, he usually gets it quickly, or not at all. He's pretty precise."

Becky had edged subtly closer to Tom, and once again, Joe pretended not to notice. He had once told himself that this wouldn't affect him… how he had lied.

* * *

That evening, the _League_ – sans Mina for obvious reason – collected in the vast stateroom. There was tea to be drank, but it was mostly ignored by all save for Jekyll, who sipped at a cup frequently, letting his thoughts run away with him. He watched the others discreetly, a talent he had learned over the years, perhaps aided by the supernatural hearing and keen eyes of Hyde, forever trapped inside to his own devices, except for the odd occasion when Henry let him loose.

The others were all present, even Agent Harper, whom he had released from the infirmary in exchange for the vow that he would be careful and remain with someone at most times, if not all. The four Americans stayed close together for the most part. Tom had his arms crossed over his chest pensively, the same with Agent Finn at his side. Miss Thatcher stood to the other side of Tom somewhat timidly, hence her proximity to him. She looked about ready to grab him if something happened… again.

Agent Harper was the only one seated, propped on the edge of the table, and Nemo was too distracted with his papers to notice the offence to his furniture. Skinner stood opposite the wounded agent, hands in the pockets of his jacket, head down turned slightly, from his place next to the captain. After a few elongated – and almost unbearable – moments, Nemo straightened, drew in a breath, and started talking.

"I learned very little in my interrogation of the mutinous crew who were working with Gray," he said gravely, and his dark temper showed in his eyes, if nowhere else.

"You must have learned something at least," Tom countered gently, careful not to irritate the Indian man. This was still, after all, _his_ territory, and they all respected that.

Skinner turned his head slightly, his greasepaint showing his impassiveness… as feigned as it was. His posture showed his discomfort with the entire situation. It spoke volumes, but he stayed quiet in voice.

"Very little, as I said. I know only that Gray and Mrs. Harker are supposedly still in the city. Gray had made no plans known about his leaving once he had regained his… 'property'."

"So there's a good chance we can find her again," Tom said, brightening a little, but not enough to let it show on his features. His eyes lit up just a fraction, but his posture only relaxed slightly.

Nemo tilted his head in consideration. "Perhaps, Agent Sawyer, but we must not be hasty. There is a good chance he was simply not telling my men–" here he scowled slightly, before continuing, "that he had plans to leave London. He may have already left, on a boat, or by train… even carriage. We have no way of knowing."

Tom looked around the table, and Henry saw the question in the eyes that did not escape his lips. He was asking them if they felt the same as Nemo. No one spoke, simply looked to the American League member hesitantly. Henry was no exception. He had no idea what else _to_ think, other than what Nemo had already voiced.

"So that's it then? We're just going to stop here?"

Again, no one spoke, though Nemo's body language suggested he did not agree with that statement at all. After a few moments however, he _did_ speak. "That was not what I intended to suggest Agent Sawyer. I simply meant that the situation has become that much more complicated. How can we be sure where to begin?"

Tom shook his head, uncrossing his arms. "We can't abandon her."

"No one said we should," Finn eased gently by his side, trying to be the voice of reason, as it seemed he often did. "But Captain Nemo's got a point, Tom… this isn't gonna be easy."

"Nothing ever is, Huck," Tom returned. Henry watched, intrigued by their behaviour in an odd sense. "You know that better than I do." There was a hidden meaning in those words that Henry could practically taste, and for some reason, it made him uncomfortable. Apparently, it seemed to have the same effect on Agent Finn. "But that doesn't mean we just give up… we have to _try_… with _everything_ we have."

It fell quiet after that, with everyone's minds running over the possibilities, and Henry for one was starting to get a headache… Tom had a point, but it _was _going to take everything they had… and more.

Sighing heavily in defeat, Henry sipped his tea.


	17. My Way

**Author's Note:** Took me long enough, but… it's an update, right? Better than nothin' _smiles, and then cowers::_

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**angel-flame** Glad I could make you laugh. I have no idea about the phrasing either, but it's just something that happened. I apologise if it didn't sit right.

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**Artemis Gray:** Thanks for the review.

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**Marcus Lazarus:** Gray will forever be so confident and cocky. As for the Mina thing, you'll see. Hope this one wasn't too long. But from looking at the date on your review… it's been nearly A MONTH?! My god _hangs head in shame::_ Ugh.

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**LotRseer3350:** Thanks for the review. Here's the update.

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**Scifirogue-klutz:** I'm glad you love the Americans. Huck is my favourite out of them too _hugs her Huckleberry senseless::_ Of course, the fact that I've based the guy on Breckin Meyer helps too… hehehehe. Can't help but love him, and I do favour him somewhat in the story, as you might have noticed.

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**Capt. Cow:** I like that you found it exciting. Tom is indeed getting a little grumpy. He can't seem to help it, and that just… happened, writing-wise. Heh, nice threat XD

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**Sethoz: **Joe… worried? Hmm. Don't be worried about Joe. At least, not so much that you have to smite me. Glad you like him anyway. Here! I updated! Don't hurt me for the wait…

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**Xaviere Jade:** Sorry you weren't as satisfied with the last update. Hope this one's better.

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**elvenmalka523:** I'm glad you like the story, and thanks for the review.

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**BloodMoonLycan:** Thank'ee, pal. Heh, glad you like Dorian – as much as you can with his attitude. Tom is being a bit… quirky, isn't he? And if you weren't nuts, you wouldn't be the person I know and love, so don't shut up XD I love it. Your ramblings make me laugh.

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**tonianne** Thanks, thanks and thanks. Here's the new chapter XD

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**Drakena the Destroyer:** Henry is a good silent observer. It just fit for him to do that.

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**kingleby** You found it funny that he sipped his tea? Hehehehe. Tom is always trying to be optimistic, yes… someone's got to.

And now, the new part of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

The darkness had settled into her, eating away at her mind, and she had taken to sitting in the corner. The bed had disgusted her for some odd reason, bringing back unwelcome memories of other times with Gray. She did not wish to recall those incidents, and she thought that avoiding the bed might help.

It had, but only to the degree of discomfort. She could have cared less, but she did not wish to think about Gray at all. She only wished to think about pushing down the hunger that was gnawing at her faster than it normally would. But then… she couldn't remember the last time she had fed.

Mina cursed herself for her forgetfulness then, at having not taken the time to eat in either Missouri or London. It shouldn't have been something she would forget, but… she had. And now it was revisiting her, cruelly, and twisting her mind to urging. She had only suffered this kind of hunger once or twice in her vampirism, and she despised it. It made her feel like an animal… a savage.

But then, that was what Gray wanted.

In the dark, huddled in the corner, Mina growled weakly.

* * *

The stateroom where they dined and discussed as a team was unnervingly quiet, and Skinner hated it. He had always despised awkward silences, and this was about as awkward as they came. He cleared his throat quietly, for no real reason other than to break said silence, and then froze, slapping his forehead with his gloved palm as if cursing his stupidity for not thinking of it before. He grumbled to himself, eyes squeezed shut for his ignorance to the obvious.

"Mr. Skinner?" came Nemo's ever calm voice, and the thief lowered his hand, looking around the room. Everyone's gaze was turned in his direction, and he suddenly felt a little sheepish. "Is something the matter?"

"Um… not exactly. I just realised I might have an idea, that's all," Skinner revealed, shuffling on his feet, embarrassed about his outburst.

Silence descended on the room again, and it was young Sawyer who cocked his head and asked bluntly, "Well? What is it?"

Skinner mouthed an 'oh', and shook himself out of his stupor, saying, "Well, this is my old haunt. I used to live here, after all, and I know my way around." He smiled somewhat slyly. "And one other thing I know is the others of my kind. And by that, I mean the thieves, and the snitches… no offence to myself intended."

Becky Thatcher smiled wanly at him for that, and he returned it politely.

"I know where they can be found, the ones to trust, and just who'll know what we _need_ to know… if you catch my drift." He met gazes with Tom, and waited for the young man's reaction.

It was a few moments, with exchanged glances and bated breath before Tom smiled. "Good thinking, Skinner. Looks like all that pick pocketing came in handy after all, huh?"

"I'll have you know I made a decent livin' by picking the pockets of snobs, thank you very much." He attempted to act offended, but grinned instead, an expression Tom returned.

"Sure you did, Skinner."

The thief chuckled to himself quietly, and he nodded proudly, just glad that he could help. After all, better late than never, right?

* * *

Huck strode after the _League_ as they made their way to the mapping room, though he didn't know why they needed a map of London when it was evident Skinner had been there before… and even _lived_ there. Also, Tom was familiar with the terrain. But with the knowledgeable and experienced thief leading the way, how could they get lost? It seemed… well, stupid was one way he'd like to put it.

They swept collectively into the room, with Huck finding his shadow-like place next to Tom instantly and seemingly automatically, and the two agents crossed their arms over their chests as Nemo pulled out the appropriate papers. He rolled them out over the slanted table, providing a view for all, and Skinner stepped forward, nodding approvingly of the maps. He started to trace his fingers over them, the gloved tips sliding this way and that, until he poked the paper gently, saying, "Here's a good spot. There's a gang I used to run with known as 'The Hammersmith Circle'. They're _good_, and I mean _bloody_ good. Wasn't with them long, because of the 'hierarchy' and rubbish, but… you get the idea. These are our guys. They'll get us what we need, if not direct us to someone who can."

Tom nodded, and Huck waited and watched, for the continuation he knew was to come.

"And are these men dangerous?" Jekyll asked curiously and with concern.

"In their own ways, but only if you double cross them, or hold out. Neither o' which I'm plannin' to do. I know these guys; I know how to act around 'em, and by going out myself, I can guarantee at least a lower level of hostility. We didn't part on bad terms." Skinner seemed the most confident Huck had ever seen him, and that was comforting.

"So… who's goin'?" Joe found himself asking, feeling he already knew the answer, it seemed. The way he balanced with his crutches next to Becky – who appeared ready to catch him – was testament to his obviousness of being overlooked for such an endeavour, and Huck hoped he would understand.

"Other than me?" Skinner asked, and opened his mouth to say something that the youngest spy thought would be 'no one'.

Tom, however – and naturally so – had other ideas. "Me."

"And me," Huck threw in without a pause between their declarations, and smiled in a crooked manner. "Just try and keep me – _us_ – away, Skinner."

Skinner looked at a loss, and sighed in a defeated manner. "No point, really, is there? Not when there's _two_ of you to battle off. Gotta warn you though, they're not keen on strangers."

"But like you said, they know you. If push comes to shove," Huck began with a shrug, "we can just wait outside, right?"

Skinner considered this, and furrowed his brows behind his perched pince-nez. "Sounds fair to me." Glancing to the others around the room, and seeing their apparent agreement, Skinner nodded. "So we have a plan."

Tom smiled, as did Huck. Finally, they seemed to be getting somewhere.

_About time._

* * *

Becky chewed lightly on her bottom lip outside the door, pacing slowly and methodically back and forth, her slight brow knitted thoughtfully and with worry, and she sighed in irritation, uncrossing her arms from around her lean body, and then turned, opening the door and striding in.

Tom turned to her at once, in the middle of buttoning a fresh shirt after what had obviously been a bath or – something she had heard Tom refer to – a shower… whatever one of those was. She wasn't entirely sure, though she had a vague idea in her mind. But to save face, she hadn't asked.

"Becky," he said simply, and blinked in surprise, hands falling from his unfinished task… which distracted the woman for a bit.

Mentally slapping herself across the face for her train of thought, she said in return, "Tom."

"Did you want something?" he asked with a cocked head and furrowed brow.

Becky was a little thrown by his question, the likes of which he had never really had to ask before, and with a curt nod, she squared her shoulders as best she could and confirmed, "Yes, I do."

Tom simply stood, waiting. Becky let the silence drag on for a little bit, though she wasn't sure why, before she blurted, "I want you to… not go."

Tom frowned and looked perplexed. "Why?" he asked, truly confused, or so it seemed from his tone of voice.

"Don't you already _know_ why?" she asked, again, taken aback by the confusion he was showing as to how she was behaving. Recently, he had shown an understanding that was becoming a lover. Now though… she was starting to wonder. "Isn't it obvious _why_?"

"Would I ask if it was that obvious?" he inquired quietly as he turned his back on her, something that bewildered her further. She had always been the one to turn her back on _him_, not the other way around. Something was wrong here.

"Are you angry with me?" Her voice lacked the conviction she had been aiming for, and she internally cringed at the weakness in her voice.

"Becky," he began, almost impatiently, rolling up the sleeves on his shirt without a glance in their direction. It was habit for him now, she knew. "Why, of all people, would I be angry with _you_?"

Something in her mind flared, and she had no choice but to heed its call to be spoken. "Perhaps because if it hadn't been for me, Mrs. Harker never would've given herself up."

Tom turned to her then, once again, and his eyes were narrowed in what she assumed to be confusion. He had finished rolling up his sleeves, and now just looked perplexed, standing stock still as he faced her. "What is that supposed to mean? Why would I be angry with you about that? That couldn't be helped, and it was _her_ choice."

Becky shook her head. "Well you're angry about _something_, Tom, and I just wanna know what it is."

"Dorian," Tom said simply and with a slight growl, as he snatched his waistcoat from the back of the desk chair. "That's all. It's just that bastard is always somehow messing things up."

Becky fell quiet for a few moments; though she was certain there was more to it than a simple 'I hate Dorian Gray'. She could associate with that, yes, but that didn't mean she had to accept it as the whole truth. "Tom," she began tentatively as she walked up to him, "tell me what's bothering you. Please. You used to confide in me…"

Tom finished pulling on his waistcoat, and looked her in the eye. "You're determined to find something wrong with me, aren't you?" For a few seconds he smiled, and then added blankly, "Do you wanna try and 'fix me', is that it?"

"Pardon?"

"Your whole life, Becky, you wanted to try and fix other people's problems. You were always askin' the questions and offering the solutions that people might not have wanted to hear. But you never really thought about that. No one ever said anything either, 'cause they didn't want to offend you, but… not everything can be _fixed_!"

Becky was taken aback by his words, and she tried to find some sort of reason in them. She found none and furrowed her neat brow. "I don't understand. I just want to help you, Tom, if you'll let me."

"Well, I'll feel better when Gray's dead. Can you help with that?"

Becky frowned. She didn't like him acting this way. She had never seen him like this before really.

"I didn't think so." He was pulling on his pistols now, putting them in place, and checking the guns were loaded. She watched him discreetly, standing just in front of him, trying to think of something – anything – to say. Nothing came to mind.

"Becky," he began, softer, "listen." He sighed. "It's just… Gray nearly killed us all before, and now he's got Mina."

Becky paid close attention – perhaps without realising – to how he said that name, and she looked up at him. She had listened in the stateroom as well, to his vehement proclamations that they save her. Her eyes narrowed slightly again, and she found herself asking, "What do you really think of her? Of Mrs. Harker?"

"What?"

"You heard me, Tom."

Their eyes were locked intensely, and neither wavered.

"She's my friend, Becky, and she's helped me while I've been with the League." He tugged down on the holsters to ensure they were secured, and then grabbed his coat from the rack. "That's all." He picked up his hat, and left the room.

Becky watched him go, not entirely sure how she should feel about his words. Was he telling the truth? Was he being honest with her, or had the old Tom Sawyer and his lies come back?

Was there more to his feelings about Mina Harker than met the eye?


	18. Show Me The Way

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the wait. That is all o.O Long one to make up for it.

**Marcus Lazarus:** Thanks. I'm sure Gray's got more bastard-like tricks up his sleeve yet. He's a slippery one. And Skinner certainly does have his uses, even if he does seem a bit dense at times, bless 'im. It's getting to the point in the story, also, where all the conflicting character emotions rise up. Sorry for the wait.

**Sethoz:** Becky's just confused… everyone is at this point, I believe. I **love** your use of that quote in that review! Very sneakily done! Bravo XD Hehe, you like Joe! XD Mwahahaha.

**evenmalka523:** Thanks very much. And here's the more you wanted.

**funyun** I have most definitely screamed at the characters. All the time, in fact. And more often than not, in my own stories, when they do something I hadn't planned o.O Which is often.

**LotRseer3350:** Thanks very much for the review, and here's the update at last.

**Capt. Cow:** Everyone's stuck in one gigantic love _works it out::_ pentagon. It's a love-pentagon. You have something against Joe? Ah well… I have made him out to be a bit of a dweeb sometimes, haven't I?

**Artemis Gray:** Thanks for the comment about the room. Hope you like this new chapter.

**kingleby** Skinner to the rescue! Kinda… XD Gotta love Huck… and I suppose it is a matter of 'poor Becky'.

**Tatsu:** Hehe, be frustrated no more – here's a new chapter at last. And remember, in the immortal words of Evie: "Patience is a virtue!"

**Drakena: **I don't mind that you're not logged in. XD It's all one big 'let's-hate-Dorian-and-kill-him' party! And 'fraid I do have something against slash… only when the characters in the film/show don't show signs of it. Dorian, for example, fits in slash because of his character, but I can't see it with Jekyll and Skinner, personally. Sowwy! XD

**BloodMoonLycan:** Poor boy's just confused, is all. He'll figure it out in the end. I knew I shouldn't have previewed that showdown o.O Everyone's getting impatient for it now. Eeep.

With my apologies, here's the update of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

By the time the three were ready to depart into London's grimier streets, a light drizzle had come down upon the rooftops and cobbles, and they trudged with dampened spirits on their way. Skinner was slightly in front, with the two Americans behind him. Huck and Tom both wore similar wide peaked low black hats, with cloth dusters swaying around their boots, with the thief in front clad in his normal leather trench coat and tall trilby. His face was covered in greasepaint, and the pince-nez were perched perfectly on his nose. On his feet were heavy boots, to keep him from getting pneumonia or something of the like. Even for Skinner, walking barefoot in the rain was not appealing, and so he had sought out his only pair of footwear from his cabin, digging them out of storage.

They were silent for a long time, the three of them heading along some unannounced and preordained path that Skinner deemed the best. The two agents hunched their shoulders against the weather, collars of their jackets pulled up high to try and keep the wet chill from their faces. Huck chewed a wad of gum to keep himself distracted, and as Tom watched him, he was oddly reminded of the time when he had first watched the _League_ come out of the Albion. He had been doing the exact same thing, to keep himself from going stir crazy.

_We're more alike than either of us realise, I guess_, he thought to himself, sighing lightly with a subtle shiver. Huck either saw it or instinctively knew his friend's behaviour, and said, "Is the weather always this bad? It's _gotta_ be bad to make _you_ shiver."

Tom smiled lightly for a moment with a dry chuckle. "Pretty much," he replied, glancing to the alleys where Skinner was headed. "Hope this doesn't turn out to be a waste of time."

"Now when has anythin' we've ever done turned out to be a waste o' time, huh?" Huck teased lightly, nudging his partner with his elbow. Tom grinned, remembering times past. The two really had had some insane adventures as children. From witnessing a murder, to travelling to far off places in an air balloon, they really had done some crazy things. But Tom wouldn't change any of them for the world.

"Skinner sure seems to know where he's headed, anyhow," Huck imparted in a quieter voice, glancing around guardedly as they began to enter the gloomier and less-desirable part of London. Down here were all the dregs of society, as one could call it. Tom didn't care, so long as something came of it.

"Well, this is his home," Tom sighed. "I'd be surprised it he didn't."

Voices could be heard up ahead, and Tom and Huck tensed slightly, even as Skinner's pace became more cautious. Even if this _was_ his old neighbourhood, and indeed, his old gang, it obviously didn't stop him from being wary.

Somehow, that comforted Tom.

* * *

Joe's cabin wasn't an altogether homely place, but considering it was a temporary living quarters, he was perfectly content to let it be just what it was. A room, with a bed, desk and adjoined bathroom. The showers – convenient devices that they were – were situated in the lower decks of the ship. Joe had used them twice during his stay, and if nothing else, he thought they were one of the better inventions on the vessel.

He was skimming through an old novel he had been trying to read, one that he had read before and was trying to remember small details about… when there was the gentlest of knocks on the door. Joe's narrowed eyes glanced up from the crinkled pages, and he eyed the door for a moment as if it would tell him itself who was outside.

"Who is it?" he called quietly.

"It's Becky."

Instantly, Joe flung the book aside, hearing it land just beside the desk he sat near, and said, "Come in." Having given the room a once over with his eyes, there was nothing offensive on display, and he had deemed it worthy of her presence.

_Worthy of her presence?__ What the hell is **that** supposed to mean?_ Joe's brow furrowed, even as she opened and closed the door around her frame. He studied her as she stood there for a few moments; her slightly dejected expression, the slack in her posture, the slight creases in her skirts from lying on a bed, or so he assumed. Her hair was lacking its usual immaculacy, and her sparkling eyes weren't so… sparkling.

At once, Joe's defences shot up, and his heart tightened. "Becky, what's wrong?" He had a feeling he already knew, but he hoped he was wrong. He didn't need a reason to be angry with Tom right now. After all, he was here to _support_ Tom, wasn't he?

Becky sighed, the gesture lifting her chest for a moment, before it fell again, slowly and almost sadly. "I just realised sitting on my own wasn't the best idea right now," was all she said as she moved forward, and claimed a perch on the foot of his bed. His chair faced her, his crutches rested near the desk behind him, and he let a slight frown touch his features as he watched her. She seemed almost flat… and he didn't like that. He had become somewhat adept at reading her after their relationship, and he cocked his head. "You didn't want Tom to go, did you?"

Becky smiled faintly for a moment. "Of course not," she revealed softly, as if a whisper of wind through leaves, and her eyes met his.

_She still loves him… after everything he's done._ Joe refrained from sighing in a rejected and deflated manner. This wasn't about him. Becky was feeling down, and she had come to him. He would be there for her. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

_Well that was glib…_

Becky shrugged lightly, her lean shoulders rising and falling sharply. "I guess that's why I came, after all. Just sort of followed my feet after I figured out lying on my bed staring at the ceiling wasn't getting me anywhere." She attempted a laugh, and a light singsong chuckle parted the silence that came after she finished talking. Joe sighed nostalgically at the sound.

"Funny that it brought me here," she mumbled after a few moments, and her gaze lingered on his face for a few seconds. Joe looked right back, swallowing the dryness he suddenly felt in his mouth. Here, sitting on his bed, was the woman he had been in love with for some time… confessing to him that she had come here without thinking about it, her feet and brain acting independently from one another. But then he pushed it down. It was quite possible that she had come here for lack of anywhere else to go. After all, Tom and Huck were both gone.

He nodded in confirmation to what she had said, and leaned back in his chair a little. He would have leant forward if not for the wound in his leg that kept him from doing so. He had taken a little hobble around his cabin about half an hour beforehand, and found that applying pressure wasn't as hard as he had thought. But he would pay heed to Jekyll's medical advice for now, until he needed to use the leg at least.

"I tried to tell him why I didn't want him to go," she began with an awkward sigh. "But he just seemed…"

"What?" Joe urged after she fell silent, brow furrowed.

"When I came on the Nautilus, he just seemed so glad that we were together again, as I was." She tilted her head to one side, blonde tresses tumbling gracefully with the movement. "But after Mrs. Harker got taken, he's been acting different. Even blunt."

Though Joe didn't believe it to be so simple himself, he offered, "Maybe he's just worried about her. They're friends, after all."

Becky shook her head. "It sounds stupid and childish, but there's a part of me that's worried about his feelings for her." There was a slight insecurity in her voice that made Joe's heart ache powerfully. He wanted to reach out and hold her then, to comfort her in her uncertainty, but… he just couldn't bring himself to do that. Something held him back.

"Maybe I'm just jealous," she mumbled. "After all, he _did _come to rescue me from Gray."

Joe nodded, and felt a pang of jealousy all of his own.

"But listen to me," she said suddenly, tucking her hair from her face. "Talking about that as if it were just Tom Sawyer. I know that would make his day; to make him think it were all because of him that I was rescued." She looked Joe in the eyes again, and smiled sweetly. "It wasn't just him. Why, he wasn't even the one to come looking for me in that horrible house."

Their eyes locked across that short distance again, and Joe felt the sweatiness in his palms. He laid them flat down on his knees to keep from fiddling nervously, and he cursed such a reaction to a simple gaze. She had always been able to do that to him. If he had been capable of such an emotion towards Becky, he would have hated her for that alone.

"I never did thank you," she said softly, and leaned forward off the bed, moving closer to Joe… before she planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. Joe closed his eyes, and felt his breath catch in his throat. So simple a gesture could have such an effect on him; he almost felt foolish, if not for her light perfume clouding his senses, covering all traces of such an emotion.

"You don't need to thank me, Becky."

"Of course I do!" Becky looked taken aback by his unnecessary chivalry.

"No you don't," he offered with a crooked smile. "It wasn't something that I had to think about doing. It just happened. Always has, with you." He almost wished he hadn't said that last part, but before he could read her reaction, he continued, "Always been natural with you, Becky, and leaving you with that… that _thing_, would have been too much for me to take."

After that, the two descended into a kind of silence. Oddly enough, it was one that Joe found comfortable.

* * *

The rain had not eased up, and if anything, it was getting heavier. Huck shuddered lightly, chewing the flavourless wad of gum in his mouth simply for distraction. Skinner had been permitted entry to a guarded doorway, after a few tense moments of silence wherein someone had been peering through a slot in the top of the doorway. Then they had granted him entrance, and a few surprised mutterings had been offered, before Skinner had slipped inside, and the door had closed, leaving the Americans out in the rain.

It was starting to grate on Huck's nerves, at least. Looking to Tom, the only thing he could see was concern. Mina Harker was quite possibly somewhere in the city, and they were being forced to sit out on the information that could provide them a means to go rescue her. It was obvious that was what the older and taller spy was running over and over in his mind. Huck sighed sympathetically. For someone who had never been in love, it was difficult for him to comprehend truly what was going through Tom's mind, but his best friend was someone Huck had come to know just by stance and the light in his eyes. So deep was their friendship, that they were more akin to brothers than anything. Which was why, he supposed, Tom had gone after the Phantom instead of staying behind with what he had thought to be Huck's dead body.

Huckleberry Finn shivered. Not from the cold, but from the dark memory of his near-dying. Shrugging his jacket tighter onto his lean shoulders a little more, he cast the memory aside, even as the door creaked again, calling the attention of the two agents to the opening. A gruff head poked out, and his cockney voice grumbled, "C'mon in."

Tom and Huck were wary at first, both feeling the reassuring weight of pistols at their sides, before succumbing to the request, and heading in the doorway. Their hats and the tails of their dusters dripped water impressively for a while, before they reached up with cold hands, and pulled the formers off. Tom shook his bangs from his eyes, and the two of them followed the gruff individual down a corridor, devoid of furnishings or decorations of any kind, and into a room at the end of it. A shabby rug lay across a wide stretch of the floor, covering the boards, and Huck had a feeling that most of this thieving circle's assets were hidden under there, no doubt. He had seen it before. It was quite a common habit.

There was little else worthy of notice in the room… unless, of course, you counted the shady characters that lined the walls and filled the chairs. Skinner was sitting opposite one such individual, leaned forward in his chair slightly with a lit cigarette in his hand. Tom and Huck warily came up behind Skinner's chair, the former mumbling, "I didn't know you smoked."

"Only rarely, kid," Skinner muttered in response before inhaling from the cigarette, holding the smoke in for a few seconds, before letting it out again, saying as he did so, "And in times o' stress, if you catch my meanin'."

The man Skinner had seated himself across from was one immediately assumed to be the head of such a circle, and Huck was no exception. He instantly deemed that individual worthy of most of his attention, sparing some for the others in the room, obviously. It wouldn't do to become completely distracted.

The man was slouched in an almost gentlemanly fashion in his chair, one leg draped casually over the other knee. One arm was propped up on the armchair with his elbow, a cigarette held lazily between his index and middle fingers. He reminded Huck very much of what he had imagined Skinner would look like if not invisible and/or covered in greasepaint. His clothing was far from immaculate, but decent enough for one of a thieving lifestyle. His shirt was buttoned nonchalantly up to the top of his chest, his collar wide and tall. He wore a jacket over the top of that, matching his pants, set over scuffed shoes. The shoes themselves looked like an odd cross between dinner attire and boots, causing Huck to cock his head. There was, of course, no tie about the collar of this man, but his face spoke of experience in dealings of a delicate nature. He may not have been a man of wealth, but he had dabbled in it, and this was evident in his dark eyes, set below a shaded brow. Subtly tangled black hair topped off the head, falling around his brow, ears and neck in a controlled fashion that Huck imagined Tom was trying to fathom. The hand holding the cigarette flicked slightly sending ash tumbling lightly to the floor.

"So these are the kind of company you choose nowadays, Skinner?" the man asked, before taking a drag off his cigarette, eyeing Tom and Huck almost sceptically. Huck felt a sudden dislike for the man.

Skinner nodded, flicking his own butt and sighed. "Yup."

"Well… like I said, we've missed you around here, Skinner," the man continued, taking his eyes from the Americans. "Circle 'asn't been the same without you." He grinned. "Certainly been quieter, if nothin' else." Skinner and the man chuckled, before the former nodded in good humour.

"Well, first meeting's an' all," he mumbled, and twisted in his chair. "Blonde on my right is Tom Sawyer, and the other one's Huck Finn. Americans… but they're not too bad." He chuckled lightly, and Huck cocked a brow before smiling. "This is Jack Northwood; he runs The Hammersmith Circle."

"Charmed," Northwood drawled, and Tom pulled a face. If he hadn't been intending to do an impression of Gray, he had certainly done so subconsciously at the very least. Huck too cocked his head. He had only 'met' Dorian Gray briefly, but that had been enough to cast a strong dislike into the young man.

Tom shifted, impatient, and Huck sympathised. Here they were, with these men who supposedly knew all about London and its goings-on, and they were being forced to wait. "Well?" Tom asked bluntly of Skinner. "Did you find anything out yet?"

"Take it easy," Skinner objected, holding up a hand as he extinguished the butt he had been holding in his other gloved one. "I was gettin' reacquainted, if you don't mind."

"We don't have time for that, Skinner," Tom mumbled irritably, and Huck touched a hand to his friend's arm. It wouldn't do to get heated in this room. They were outnumbered if things turned sour.

"Tom, calm down," Huck whispered, eyeing the restless men around the room. They seemed to be on guard, watching the Americans for any signs of trouble.

"Skinner 'ere told me about your… predicament, as it were," Northwood began as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He stubbed out his cigarette, and picked up a glass of an amber liquid. Scotch or whiskey, Huck guessed, watching the man take a swig. "And I've been wracking my brains tryin' to remember if there's anythin' I know that might be of help to you gentlemen." He chuckled. "D'you know that Skinner is the first one around 'ere to call himself a _gentleman_ thief?" He seemed rather amused by this fact, and eyed his measure of liquor, before downing it. "But you didn't come here to be all nostalgic, I'm sure." With a shrug, Northwood continued, "I've 'eard of this Dorian Gray that Skinner told me about, and recently too."

Tom perked up at this, and all attention aimed irritably toward Skinner dissipated.

"He's hidin' away in the city somewhere, from what we've 'eard," Northwood sighed, looking to his fellow thieves. "Don't know much more than that though, I'm afraid. Sorry to disappoint you."

"No, no, it's all right, Jack," Skinner said swiftly, as though offending Northwood was an unwise decision… which Huck understood. Looking around, they wouldn't stand a chance, he knew. "Any ideas where we might be able to get more information?" This question was asked almost cautiously, as if Skinner did not wish to offend the old acquaintance.

Northwood shifted a little in his armchair, and looked contemplative. "Hmm," he mumbled to himself in consideration. "Might be one fella. I think you know who I'm talkin' about."

"You're kidding," Skinner uttered with a sigh. "You know what he's like, Jack."

"Yes I do, but when I 'aven't got anythin' for you, Skinner, he's the guy you need." Northwood shrugged. "You know 'ow it goes." He smiled, and pulled another cigarette from its case, sighing. "Again, sorry I couldn't 'elp you more, Skinner."

Skinner stood from his chair, nodding. "You were more than helpful, Jack. Thanks." He moved around to stand with Huck and Tom, even as Northwood persisted.

"Oh, and remember, Skinner… there's always a place for you here." His face was serious; there was no teasing in his words. The Americans eyed the Londoner, who seemed a little stuck for what to say.

"Thanks, Jack," he mumbled with a stiff nod, before he led the way from the room. Huck hovered there for a moment, watching the thieves around the room, before he took off at a brisk walk after Tom and Skinner.

* * *

The night air was cooling and refreshing, helping her to clear her thoughts. The jacket she had borrowed from Nemo's storage helped to keep out the chill, and she had taken the opportunity to come up to take a look at the city properly. She had accepted Mina's umbrella when Jekyll had offered it to her, politely, and looked out over the rooftops, wondering where everyone not aboard the ship was right now; what they were doing; how they were faring.

Her mind strayed to Tom. He was starting to behave so differently around her from what she remembered fondly. He had always been boyishly sweet and affectionate, even lovesick, some had said. But now it seemed as if he was losing that for some reason.

And the only reason Becky could comprehend was that he was falling.

_Out _of love with her.

The thought saddened her, but as she bowed her head, her mind wandered in a different direction. She recalled the kiss she had planted on Joe's cheek, and smiled softly. Images of their past together faded in and out of memory like turning pages of a story book, and some of their times hung in her mind for a few seconds longer. Their first kiss; their hikes along the Mississippi; their picnic out on the hill… they truly had had a wonderful time… _some_ of the time. There were other times she did not wish to remember.

Such as the arguments. They had never amounted to much, thankfully, but she had hated them. Once or twice, she had very nearly been reduced to tears, and that had saddened her. But as she stood there, pulling the neck of the jacket tighter around her, she narrowed her eyes pensively.

_Everything takes time and work_, she thought to herself. _There is no success without struggle, and relationships are no exception. What made you think that it was all going to be easy? Naivety, that's what. Nothing's ever that easy. You have to fight for it._

A heavy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, and she chewed lightly on her bottom lip as she mused things over in her bustling mind.

Had she made the right choice?

* * *

Skinner was the first to emerge onto the street, and he let out a heavy breath, the words, "Damn, damn, _damn_!" flowing out in accompaniment. Sawyer and Finn planted their hats firmly on their heads as they watched him, and he looked to them slowly. "I know what you're thinkin'," he said to them, pocketing his gloved hands. "You're thinkin', 'what's he so worried about? Just another informant, right'."

He let the words sink in, and watched the Americans exchange glances before he parted with his next word.

"Wrong."

"Skinner," Sawyer began, closing his eyes, and holding up his hands slightly, sighing lightly. "What is so bad about this guy Northwood said about?"

"What's so _bad_?" Skinner laughed loudly, drawing irritated glances from the guarding pair at the door, their shaded eyes narrowed, and their arms crossed dangerously over broad chests. The agents made a point of shifting him away from the door, as the thief continued, "What's so bad, he says… pfft."

"Skinner…" Sawyer warned, and Skinner grumbled.

"All right." He shrugged their arms off him, and turned to face them. "The guy Jack was referring to is known as The Serpent – on account of his being able to slip here and there and take what he wants so quickly that no one really notices."

"Kinda like you," Finn offered, but Skinner shook his head.

"There's a difference," Skinner said gravely. "A _big_ one, at that."

He stared them both in the eyes for a while, though neither of them truly knew that, other than the way he way he was positioning his head. "What kind of difference?" Finn asked hesitantly, brow creased somewhat in concern.

"_I'm_ not willing to kill whoever gets in the way of what I want, _when _I want it."


	19. The Serpent's Bite

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the wait! … As always -.- This one altered very much from the plan, but… what're you gonna do? When the muses call, you don't argue O.o

**Vela Draven:** Thanks very much. I'm afraid this chapter is lacking too, if you know what I mean.

**Marcus Lazarus:** Heh, a lot of very astute comments there. Thanks for the review.

**Artemis Gray:** Cliffies are fun. And what I do best. Thanks!

**LotRseer3350:** Glad you liked the update. Becky and Joe are kinda taking over in their own little arc. It's insane O.o

**Scifirogue-klutz:** I kinda guessed about Huck and Tom, but you're not the only person to have said that so… oops. D'oh. Oh well. I'll remember that for future! Thanks.

**kingleby** He tried indeed. He always does, bless him. Becky stands a chance… just maybe not with Tom, aheh.

**Drakena:** As I read your review, I only just remembered I did make Skinner smoke. Oops! Heh. And yes, awful habit, ugh. Heh, I hear 'Lock, Stock' is a very good film. I should see it really.

**Xaviere Jade:** Thanks. Gah, I'm afraid there's no such interlude in _this_ chapter either. I did plan to put one in, but the muses took over, and I wasn't going to fight them when they've been so scarce of late, aheh o.O Thank you for the compliment at the end. Means a lot in its own way, heh.

**Capt. Cow:** Eeep. Frying pan. I might end up getting whacked then. Le sigh. The pains of being a writer XD

**funyun** Thanks very much. Hehe. Aren't love complications fun? And yeah, someone else pointed that out. Sorry. I never really picked up on it in the books so foolishly, I guessed. I do apologise for that. Thanks for the comments, as always!

**Sethoz:** Y'know, I'm trying to think why I should have called him Vincent, and I'm coming up blank. Damn, should've asked you before you went away, but hopefully you'll read this before you go and clear that up for me XD

And now, the new part of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

Tom and Huck strode side by side, still not quite understanding Skinner's discomfort, though they had a better idea now. They had heard his proclamation about The Serpent's tendency to murder those who got in his way, but they would play things as they came along; roll with the punches, as it were.

Huck looked to Tom, grateful for the lull in the rain, peering out from underneath the peak of his cap, saying, "Do you really think this guy is as bad as Skinner says he is?"

Tom shrugged under his jacket, hands deep in his pockets. "Well, Skinner's been known to exaggerate," he began carefully, his volume low, though the thief was muttering to himself anyway, and might not have noticed regardless. "But… I think he's serious about this guy, this 'Serpent'. You saw the way he reacted; I've never seen him like that before." He eyed his best friend cautiously, brow furrowed ever so slightly in a manner that Huck probably recognised from their days working together, in the past.

Huck sighed, and nodded, brown eyes turning away to regard the back of Skinner as the thief led the way. He seemed deeply troubled. Tom looked to Skinner as well, and actually worried about his state of mind. This news had made Tom see Skinner in a new light that he wasn't certain he liked at all. The thief was unsure of himself all of a sudden. His entire posture was submissive; shoulders hunched and head low to his chest, muttering and discontent. Tom pulled a face.

They would need Skinner at his best. After all, he was the one who knew about this Serpent, and how he behaved. He knew his ways, and his reputation. Without Skinner, Tom and Huck were flying blind.

"Well… if you're right," Huck began tentatively, "then I'm guessin' this guy is _bad_, to make Skinner _this_ nervous." He looked a little wary – or more so, to be truthful – now, and shifted his frame in a way that told Tom he was reassuring himself with the weight of his pistols at his belt. They were at either side of Huck's hips, in leather holsters; a pair of Colts similar to Tom's own. He had seen the movement before, and knew it well.

They carried on this way, trapped in silence and concern, for many more minutes, with Skinner leading them down winding alleys and every now and then, he turned his head over his shoulder to check they were still behind him. It was very odd to see him acting so nervously, and in turn, this unsettled Tom. But he steeled his resolve, motioned with his head to Huck, and they picked up their pace to match Skinner's. The thief said nothing, only looked them both in the eye, and then froze.

When Tom and Huck turned their heads, they realised he had stopped, staring at a door. It was unmarked; no number, with a plain brass handle and knocker. Glancing around, Tom saw they were out of the way, down a labyrinth of alleyways and streets, and he was… to put it bluntly, well and truly lost. If Skinner happened to abandon them any time soon, Tom knew he wouldn't be able to find his way out of the catacombs of London without help, and neither would Huck.

"This is it," Skinner muttered, somewhat shakily. He glanced hesitantly at the two Americans at his side, as if asking them silently whether or not they wanted to turn back. When neither agent spoke or confirmed this, Skinner moaned lightly, and strode to the door. Lifting one gloved hand, he slowly took hold of the knocker, pulling it back. Suddenly, he turned his head, and asked, "Are you _sure_ about this?"

"Skinner," Tom began gently, almost pleadingly, pulling his hat from his head, "we need to find Mina. And to do that, we need to find Gray. If this Serpent is the only one who knows about that…"

Skinner sighed heavily, and nodded. "Yeah, yeah… you're right." His shoulders slumping slightly, he let the knocker fall against the door three times in rapid succession. He stepped back from the door a little way after that, even as a small shutter opened in the wood, and a pair of eyes peered through. They narrowed, and Tom cocked his head slightly to one side. Skinner nodded to the gazing eyes, and the shutter closed again, becoming lost in the smooth surface of the door, undetectable. Tom glanced to Huck, puzzled; finding his fellow American looked very much the same as he did.

The door opened after a moment, wherein many locks were taken aside, and the figure who had stared out at them turned out to be a young man in a simple shirt and pants suit, minus the jacket and tie. His shoes were a little scuffed, and considering the neighbourhood, he looked quite presentable. He had piercing brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, and hair to match. He nodded his head to the side, indicating that they enter, and Skinner led the way. The young man watched them intensely as they stepped inside, and closed the door behind the two agents, locking it much in the manner he had reversed a few moments before, and silently offering to take their hats. Huck and Tom handed theirs over, but Skinner's never left the safety of his head. The man remained in place, pointing down the corridor, looking Skinner squarely in the face. Tom understood what it all meant; the man recognised Skinner.

Skinner had been here before. That was why he was so frightened. He didn't just _know_ of The Serpent… he had dealt with him in the past.

And something must have happened to scare him like this.

Tom was immediately on his guard.

They travelled slowly and quietly down the corridor, mostly in darkness. There were few lamps to illuminate their journey, and this made Tom's proverbial hackles lift a little more. He didn't like the situation. It was becoming more and more disheartening by the second.

_But you don't have a choice, Sawyer, and you know it. This is the only way you're going to find Mina… you know **that** too._

Sighing, he watched Skinner tap lightly with his knuckles on a closed door. From under the crack at the bottom, a shaft of light could be seen, and music could be heard playing; soft classical from the sound of it. It did nothing to console the taller American, and he glanced to his shorter friend, seeing the concentration in Huck's features. His hands were poised to grab for a gun if need be, but Tom sincerely hoped he held out until they were certain of any danger.

Skinner waited ten seconds, before he carefully turned the knob, opening the door, and stepping inside. He gazed around, and Tom literally saw him swallow nervously. Tom and Huck were close behind him, the former bringing up the rear just in case someone was behind them. He gazed cautiously over his shoulder, searching for danger, and then looked ahead once more, stepping over the threshold and into the room.

The decorations were minimalist at best in nature, but spoke of extravagance in their simplicity. Wherever he was getting his 'possessions', he knew where to go, and how to deal.

Not two seconds after he'd cleared the open door, it slammed closed behind him, and a hand wrapped tightly around his chest, pulling him back. He felt himself collide with another form; a body behind him, and cursed his distraction. There was the slight, familiar ring of metal, and he felt the cool blade near his throat. Gazing at the alarmed Skinner and mildly panicked Huck, he moved to fight the hold around his chest, when the thief burst into vocal protest, lifting his hands up, palms out.

"Sawyer! _Don't_ move, whatever you do! Do. Not. Move!" Skinner's eyes were wide. That much was obvious from the lifting of his brows. He breathed heavily, and Huck had drawn a pistol from his place by Skinner's right. The thief looked from one spy to another, and then said shakily to Tom, "Just… stay still, all right? Don't do anything. Just… stand there."

"Easy for you to say," he muttered uncomfortably, feeling the knife shift against his neck slightly, and he tilted his head back a little, looking to Huck in a manner that he hoped commanded he not prove to be a threat. The pistol was steady and unwavering, and Huck looked intense in his firm gaze. He was looking just to the right of Tom's head, obviously to the knife-wielder, whom Tom assumed to be none other than The Serpent himself.

"Why, Skinner," the voice drawled from behind him, carrying a husky edge, "didn't expect to be seein' you again any time soon." The knife pressed against Tom's throat a little harder, and the American closed his eyes, but remembered Skinner's words. He refused to budge. The hand around his throat grasped a little tighter as well, and Tom had to admit – to himself at least – that there was undeniable strength in that grip. The man was large, and he was powerful… and fast. Not to mention stealthy and cunning… and with a certain paranoia to boot.

Skinner nodded his head, lowering his hands slightly, and glancing to the trapped American for a moment. "'Ello again," he greeted unsteadily, before he cleared his throat and commanded his voice to obey. "Long time no see."

Serpent chuckled down Tom's ear, shifting his grip a little, but not enough to present an opening for escape, saying, "You're not wrong." Tom could feel eyes staring at him as if in study. "And who're your 'friends', hmm?"

Before Skinner could respond, he continued quickly, "I always thought you'd never 'ave any, personally, Skinner… nor did I ever really want newcomers and strangers in my house… you know that. I'm a very private person."

The knife traced along Tom's throat dangerously for a few moments, so close and pressured that the spy tensed, almost certain the blade had nicked his flesh, if only slightly. He gritted his teeth, and heard the cocking of a pistol's hammer.

Serpent laughed dryly, harshly, his breath disturbing the hair at the side of Tom's head. "I wouldn't advise that, shorty," he teased, using a name Tom knew would drive Huck up the wall if used continuously. "You ever seen someone have their throat slit?" Tutting mockingly, he persisted, "Awful messy. Take my word for it."

Huck hesitated then, and Serpent seemed to be glaring harshly. Finally, with a sigh and an almost apologetic glance towards Tom, Huck pushed forward the hammer, and put the gun down onto the floor before his feet. He looked back at the knife-wielding man, and said, "Better?"

"Much," Serpent rasped. He moved the knife then, and Tom felt it shifting, and for a few moments, felt relieved, and even thought he was being released, but looking to Skinner proved otherwise.

Skinner had sucked in a sudden breath and was holding it, and suddenly said, "Wait! Come on; you know me! I wouldn't come if I didn't need your help!"

Tom froze instinctively, like an animal caught in a sudden bright light head-on, and then felt it. The tip of the blade was at the side of his neck, no longer over the throat. But he knew that it could kill where it was right now. He didn't know how long the dagger was, but he had no doubt The Serpent would drive it all the way to the hilt if so provoked or inclined.

"I bet you were wonderin' why they called me 'Serpent', 'eh?" the man chuckled down Tom's ear, turning the blade slightly. Tom clenched his jaw slightly, stubbornly, and refused to talk. "I don't think 'e likes me, Skinner, this friend o' yours."

"You have a knife to his neck–"

"Shut _up_, Finn!" Skinner hissed, and looked back to the threat. "Please… come on. I just want to talk with you, that's all. See if we can strike a deal, 'eh? You know I wouldn't do anythin' dodgy."

Serpent sighed lazily, his breath playing over Tom's bare neck. His arm still hadn't loosened from around Tom's chest either. The two Americans regarded one another at length, even as the man spoke again, "What did you come to talk about then? I 'aven't got all day. You know that. I'm a busy man."

* * *

Skinner nodded quickly, his heart racing madly in his chest. He knew this would happen… he _knew_ it. He'd seen it before; that knife positioning. It was fatal, and he remembered seeing it executed as if it were yesterday. The man had died not five seconds after the plunge, and… Skinner remembered the blood, if nothing else. 'The Serpent's bite', someone had once called it, rather crudely, but accurately.

Sawyer was obediently still in Serpent's arms, staring at Finn, and the other agent was returning the gaze. After a few moments, the blonde American looked to Skinner as the thief started to speak, "There's a character around we need to get hold of, and fast. He's… taken somethin' of ours, and we'd like to get it back. We were told you might know where he is."

"Who told you that?" Serpent asked darkly, eyes boring into Skinner fiercely. The scar down the side of his face made his gaze even more intense, unnecessarily so. Serpent was a dangerous man, and anyone with half a brain in London knew that. His reputation really did precede him, all over the city. Everyone had heard of him in some form or another. Some mothers even used the master thief in bedtime stories, or to warn children.

_'If you don't go to sleep, The Serpent will slither in here…'_ Skinner shuddered slightly, replying, "The Hammersmith Circle."

"Hah… bunch of half-wits," Serpent scoffed, and tightened his arm around Sawyer's chest. The younger man winced a little; Serpent was stronger than he looked, and from appearance alone, he was still no weakling. Skinner had never been out of Serpent's favour long enough to find out just how strong he was, but he'd seen results, and knew not to question. "Who's this bloke you're after?"

"Dorian Gray," Skinner replied slowly, hoping and praying that the informant and thief had heard the name before.

Serpent snorted quietly. "_That _stuck-up prat?" Eyes narrowing, he inquired further, "What're you after _him_ for, Skinner? Not plannin' anythin' _stupid_, are you?" He gazed to Sawyer for a moment as he said that, a brief, cunning smirk washing over his face.

"No… not really. Like I said, he's got somethin' of ours, and we need it back."

"Well… I _could_ help you, Skinner." Serpent feigned sympathy; a look Skinner knew well. "You know I'd like to, but I'd have to 'ave somethin' in return. What is it exactly that you're plannin' to take back?" With a grin, he added, "Hopefully, for blondie's sake, it's somethin' you can share."

Sawyer nearly struggled then, Skinner noticed, and his intake made the spy rethink it. "We can't do that…" he replied reluctantly. "It's not somethin' you can split down the middle, exactly."

"Then we don't have anythin' to talk about, do we, Skinner?" Serpent reminded him sharply with a wicked edge to his voice. The keen eyes narrowed somewhat dangerously. "So you know what happens now."

Skinner swallowed dryly, and simply stared, unable to look away. He prayed to whoever was listening that Serpent wasn't bored… boredom was a terrible thing with this man. He'd killed in boredom before, simply for the mild carnage that ensued. He looked at Serpent almost pleadingly, but not desperate.

Serpent toyed with the knife at the side of Sawyer's neck, and then pulled it away, before flipping it around to grip the blade expertly, and Skinner winced and turned his head away as he hit the American with it in such a manner that the agent gave an abrupt cry and slumped forward, out of the thief's arms as he released the body.

Finn let out a gasp, and leapt forward, catching Sawyer in his arms, and almost dropping to the floor with the sudden weight, glaring at Serpent, who shrugged.

"Count yourself lucky, shorty… I could very easily have torn out his jugular instead." Quirking a brow nonchalantly, he moved to stride from the room, and Skinner was actually grateful that Finn was too weighed down with Sawyer to go after him. The shorter spy actually growled in anger as the door to the side of the room opened and closed around The Serpent's retreating frame, but Skinner started forward, coming to his side.

"Trust me, it ain't worth goin' after him," he said quickly, and looked down at Sawyer, who was unconscious, without a doubt. Serpent had struck him at the base of the neck, at just the right point and with a perfect amount of pressure to knock him out and down.

"But you saw what he did!"

"Sawyer's _lucky_, Finn," Skinner retorted, taking hold of Finn's shoulder and keeping attention firmly on him. "Let 'im go. We'll have to find our information somewhere else."

"No." Finn shook his young head from side to side stubbornly, brown hair tumbling around his temples. "Take Tom; I'll get something out of the bastard."

Before Skinner could stop him, Finn had handed Sawyer's body off into his arms instead, and grabbed his gun from the floor, jogging off after Serpent. He threw the door open, and disappeared through it.

"Finn! You bloody idiot, get _back_ here!" Skinner yelled after him, looking down at his prone friend and frowning with a groan. "Oh for… _perfect_, just _perfect_!"


	20. One More Chance

**Author's Note:** I'm not even going to bother apologising… you already know why. Sorry it's a tad short, but… that's the way the cookie crumbles O.o

**Angel-flame:** Wait no longer XD Here's the new chapter.

**Drakena:** Lots of people always lusting after Mina in one way or another XD 'Lucky' woman.

**funyun** _::snorts::_ Something tells me you don't agree with Huck charging off…

**Capt. Cow:** Go Huck, indeed! And what DO you have against Joe? I'm curious.

**Marcus Lazarus:** It's all going to hell in a hand basket! Easiest way of explaining it.

**Graymoon74:** XD Don't you worry. Huck has a plan up his sleeve ;)

**Leigh S. Durron:** Surprises are fun. We all know it. Here's where you find out if your worry is justified…

**Sethoz:** O.O I didn't stab Tom! (And neither did Serpent, so no loopholes :P) He just… hit him quite hard o.O

And now, the new part of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

Huck knew very well that what he was doing could get him killed. The man – the Serpent – knew what he was doing in terms of blades and combat, not to mention ambush, and Huck Finn had been out of action for a while following his getting shot. He was a little rusty. If he was ambushed, there was a good possibility he wouldn't make it out… at least not intact anyway.

Swallowing his doubt, with his guns in his hands, he crept – if you could call a quiet jog 'creeping' – down a long passageway that he couldn't fathom. From outside, the building hadn't seemed capable of holding such inner space. He cast this out of his mind when he saw a light up ahead. Bracing himself for any danger that might await him, he paced silently up to it, his brown and keen eyes boring into the door, before he nudged it with a boot. It creaked ominously, but only slightly, as it swung on its hinges, and he stared into the opening, lowering and levelling his guns instantly the moment the barricade had slipped out of the way.

His heart racing in his chest, Huck found himself barrel to barrel with the Serpent, who had a large rifle pointed squarely at the American's chest, not a flicker of uncertainty in those dark, dangerous eyes. His face was set as if in stone, and he did _not_ look amused. His hands never wavered, and his expression was grim.

"I don't take well to people followin' me…" Serpent growled quietly, irritation lacing his tone.

Huck steadied his nerves, never moving an inch. His eyes and limbs were locked, and only his mind was in constant motion; always trying to think two steps ahead, lest he get caught off-guard. Forcing his voice to lose its slight inevitable tremble – he remembered having a barrel pointed at his heart all too well – Huck said, "I have somethin' you might be interested in."

Serpent narrowed those near-black eyes, and angled his face a little more to show his intrigue. "Is that right?"

Pushing forward one of the hammers on his guns… and then the other, Huck carefully suggested, "Let's talk."

* * *

His heels tapping lightly on the cold floors of his makeshift home, he travelled down the gloomy corridor to the locked room at the end of it, his cane absent from his grasp for a change. It felt odd not to be carrying it, but he felt no need for it at this present moment. He was, after all, in the company of more loyal men than Nemo's mutineers, and he knew he could trust these 'gentlemen'. He had called upon their services many times in the past, and they hadn't failed him yet.

Dorian came to a stop before the door, where a single guard was standing, seemingly unarmed. There was a pistol on his person though, Dorian knew for a fact, and also a cross, which would intimidate Mina should she try and break free. He doubted that, though. She didn't seem the type to throw herself against the bars.

Of course, Dorian was proven wrong as he stepped up to the small opening at face height, peering into it. He actually jumped back a little – albeit with a hearty chuckle – when a set of fangs flashed into view with a savage growl for accompaniment. It seemed Mina was feeling the effects that came with the denying her blood. Dorian grinned wolfishly at her through the bars.

"My dear Mina… you see, we could have avoided all this unpleasantness, had you just agreed with me." His grin wavered, and was replaced by a sly smile instead, with a flash of cunning in his eyes that would make any fox green with envy. "We shall give you just a couple more days… and then, if you've been good…" He chuckled. "You can have something to eat, hmm?"

Mina growled fiercely, but slinked back into the shadows of her cell, the only thing not swallowed by darkness being her eyes. Dorian stood there watching her casually until the eyes waned and faded into the shadows as well, no longer visible by their bloody hue. Satisfied that she was – if only bestially – complying with his demands, he turned on his heel, and walked away, nodding lazily to the man on duty. Of course, he did feel some regret in caging Mina as he was… but only a little.

* * *


	21. By Myself?

**Author's Note:** Um… don't kill me?

**Mrs. Mina Harker:** Thanks, and here's the update.

**angel-flame** Huck is indeed lovely. Thanks.

**Graymoon74:** Glad you liked the last chapter, and Huck's 'sacrifice'.

**BloodMoonLycan:** Glad you liked and… you'll have to wait and see XD

**Drakena:** Don't worry; I haven't killed Henry XD He features briefly here.

**funyun** The pocket watch isn't from a book… it just kinda popped up in _On Devil's Wings_, and I kept it, because I thought it fit. Glad you liked.

**Marcus Lazarus:** You'll see… ;)

**Capt. Cow:** Heheheheh, glad to see you still like Huck, at least.

**Sethoz:** Attached to Huck's watch, were we? XD

**Nimmo**** Sawyer:** Thanks very much, and here's the update at last! O.O

And now, the new part of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

Becky had helped Joe to the stateroom upon hearing that the others had returned, and they entered just as Huck was pulling off his coat almost lazily. There was a quiet triumph in his eyes, and the young woman smiled. He had always known how to get his way when he wanted it badly enough. She aided Joe over to the table, though he seemed to be managing just fine on his own, and she gave him a light smile as she turned to Tom and the others.

"What did you find out?" Jekyll was asking cautiously, looking between the two spies and the thief for the information he desired, or any hints of it in their expressions.

"We found out enough to get the bastard," Tom replied almost fiercely, but he kept his temper under check enough to not startle the doctor; Becky could still read him like a book regardless of time past away from him. He may have changed, but no one changed _that_ much. "Thanks to Huck."

Huck glanced up from placing his coat over the back of a chair, but there was no feisty grin, and there was no smugness in his expression. Becky smiled softly in his direction regardless, and he caught the favouring glance. He returned the smile, and nodded very faintly.

"So what is it you found out?" Joe looked from Tom to Huck, glancing briefly to Skinner, who took the mantle to speak.

"Well… we know where the bugger is now, so we can stop 'im."

"And we can get Mina back." Tom looked pointedly to Huck for a moment, almost as if they shared some secret from the rest of the group, and that was something that unsettled Becky somewhat. She shuffled on her feet a little, almost awkwardly, and swallowed the very small lump in her throat. She quickly remembered this wasn't about her, and moved her focus back to the main point, not on her feelings, no matter how hurt they may have been.

"So where are they?" Jekyll inquired, almost eagerly. No doubt he was concerned for the woman, as they all were in their own way. Becky had the lingering suspicion that there was more to Jekyll's concern than met the eye, but it was not her place to speculate or speak out of turn, even if in private with the doctor.

"Park Lane," Huck revealed simply. "'Royal House', of all places."

Nemo's brows raised just a fraction, as if in reaction to the name of the place where they would find Dorian Gray. Everyone else reacted in their own, subtle way, but Tom's expression was more noticeable than anyone's. He was probably having an internal battle; part of him wanted to listen to reason, and the other was no doubt ready to storm out and track down this 'Royal House' right away.

Becky shifted again, wondering if it was wise to move over to him and try to talk him out of whatever he was thinking. Then again, it wouldn't do to start a scene here, in front of everyone, so she remained firmly in place, regardless of her inner urges to do otherwise.

"So what do we do now?" Jekyll glanced once to Nemo, and then turned his light, intelligent gaze to Tom, as if for acknowledgement. Tom was staring down at his hands on the tabletop, and after a moment – whether or not it was because he felt eyes on him – lifted his gaze into Jekyll's, before turning it to everyone in the room.

"We destroy him."

Becky shuddered very slightly, looking down at Joe with concern as to Tom's tone of voice. She didn't like it when he spoke like that, which wasn't often thankfully. It was so unlike him to have so much malice and intent in his words. Never had she seen him quite like _this_… she didn't know quite what to make of it; she just knew she didn't like it.

"Sawyer, we can't exactly go barging in right away," Skinner voiced sensibly, angling his trilby on his head somewhat before removing it altogether. He laid it down on the table's length, and leaned on the wood carefully, arms crossing over his invisible chest.

"Why not?" Tom argued with a desperation lacing his words. His impatience was rising to the surface, and it didn't take a genius to see it was getting to him; the waiting, the pressure.

"Because it would be stupid, and he'd have men everywhere," Skinner responded quickly. He turned to the spy fully, saying, "We have to think this through; you know that better than anyone."

Tom gave a harsh laugh, and pushed off from the table, standing straight and tall. "If you think I'm just going to sit around here on my ass while we come up with some plan, you're wrong. I'm not leaving her there; who knows what he's doing to her?"

"She can handle herself," Skinner retorted gently, or at least as gently as his own patience would seemingly allow.

"But what if she can't? We're her _friends_, Skinner; we're supposed to be there for her, no matter what." Tom stared the thief right in the face, sternly and plainly, but there was a fire in his bright eyes that Becky had seen once or twice before, when he was arguing for something he truly believed in, or loved.

"Yes, but she wouldn't want us to charge in there like idiots, only to get ourselves shot, stabbed or what have you, would she?" Skinner sighed lightly. "We need to think with our heads, not our hearts."

Tom stared for a long time, looked to everyone else in the room, ending on Huck, and when his friend didn't offer him any backing in his argument, he left the room briskly and without another word. He left the door swinging behind him, and they heard his swift footsteps as he made his retreat from the area.

Skinner was looking in the direction of the spy's exit when he said, "Okay… that ended quicker than I thought." He glanced to Becky, Joe and then Huck. "Did I say somethin' wrong?"

Huck shook his head, looking briefly at Becky, before he replied, "No, Skinner. Don't worry about it. He's just worried, that's all."

Becky lowered her gaze, knowing full well what the problem was. The way Huck had looked to her had spoken volumes; more than any words could. Skinner's comment had been more accurate than he thought, and Becky realised that now, as painful as that realisation was.

With a sigh, she sat down in the chair next to Joe, and pretended to pay attention.

* * *

Tom slammed the door to his cabin, knowing he should get a hold of his temper, but also aware of just how useless that attempt would be if he tried. He just couldn't understand how the others were willing to simply sit around and plot out every move and consequence when Gray could comprehend moving position any minute. They could plan to their heart's content, get there, and then realise they were too late. What if their patience and caution caused them to lose him… to lose _her_?

Sitting heavily on his bed, he dragged his fingers roughly through his tangle of hair, wincing at the sore point in the back of his neck. He knew he should have asked Jekyll to take a look at it, but that would only mean wasting more time. Of course, if it started to give him much more noticeable aggravation, he wouldn't have a choice but to head to the infirmary, so long as Jekyll didn't try to keep him there for too long. After all, Tom had had worse in his life; he'd live.

Frustrated, he pulled one of the Colts from his waist, and proceeded to spin it effortlessly and perhaps without realising around his right hand, staring at the door as if offended by its presence. He could marginally understand where it was Skinner was coming from, and where it was he'd gotten his logic, but that didn't mean Tom had to be happy about it, or _agree_ with it. It just meant it irritated him even more, because there was a plausible and sound argument against what he wanted to do.

He wanted to get out there. He wanted to take all the firepower he could carry, and march right down to 'Royal House', and destroy Gray himself. He'd taken Becky, and now he had Mina… he'd gone too far.

Tom needed to work out some stress, he knew… before he ended up blasting a hole in that door. His finger was itchy to pull the trigger as he twirled the six-shooter around his hand and wrist, and he snapped it to a stationary position in his hand… and then lay it down on the mattress. He removed its twin, and then took off his entire harness altogether. It would only weigh him down, after all.

* * *

Roughing up his hair even more than it already was, Huck let out a low and rather weary sigh, not to mention a loud one at that. It was pretty much the only sound in the corridor, save for the tap-tap of his heels as he walked. He was restless, and yet tired… and that was beyond annoying. He wanted to sleep, and he'd _tried_, only to have his eyes constantly opening on him. Needless to say, he'd taken to strolling aimlessly around the Nautilus, trying to tire himself out if nothing else.

Which was when he heard what had to be a frustrated yell from a room he'd visited not a day before, and furrowed his brow. He had a feeling – as before – he knew who was inside, and wandered in the direction of the door, pushing it carefully and quietly open to peek around it.

Sure enough, there was Tom, standing in the middle of the floor, looking almost like a raging warrior from a storybook Huck had been quite fond of in his youth, with imaginative illustrations of knights and dragons and maidens. Tom had the sword at such an angle as to stab outward, his arms raised up to one side of his body, holding the grip of the long weapon tightly. His chest heaved slightly, and it was plain to see he'd been working himself ragged, for the perspiration that made his shirt cling to his back. His waistcoat was at the side of the room, discarded.

Huck did not speak or make a sound of any kind, nor did he even move from his place of observation, as Tom whirled madly, slashing out dangerously with the sword, almost as if there truly were an invisible opponent in the room with him.

For several minutes, this continued, with Tom fighting this imaginary foe, and Huck simply watching in curious fascination. His friend was a gunfighter… not a swordsman. There was only one thought that came to mind as he watched this display.

Dorian Gray fought with a sword…

Tom meant to take on the immortal in combat.

It explained why he had been training vigorously with the blade. He could brush it off as trying to expand his weapon knowledge and his skills, but there was one sole and solid purpose behind this routine.

Huck sighed lightly, amazed when Tom whirled on him, sword held ready as if to fend off an attack. Huck quirked a brow, and cocked his head in confusion at the behaviour, relieved when his friend lowered the sword, albeit slowly.

"Tom," Huck began quietly, "what're you doin'?"

"What does it look like?" Tom replied, all too casually. He twirled the sword once around his wrist, passed it to his other hand, did so again, and then touched the point of the blade lightly to the floor.

"It looks like you're running yourself ragged," Huck pointed out, stepping into the room so he could lean back against the wall. "And I know why."

Tom met his gaze firmly. "And why is that, Huck?"

Huck stared right back, never wavering as he replied, "Because you want to do it yourself."

"Do what myself?"

"Don't play stupid with me, Tom, I know you better than that, remember?" Huck kept the irritation from his voice as much as he could. "I know you want to kill him yourself, if such a thing is possible, that is. You want to kill Gray… which is why you're holding that right now." He pointed in the general direction of the gleaming sword, noticing Tom looked down at it.

Before he could protest, Huck carried on, "And I know it means a lot to you… to be the one to do that. Because you feel he's hurt you. And maybe he has… but think it through, Tom, dammit. You can't fight Gray and all his men alone!"

Tom looked to him immediately, lifting the point of the sword from the floor so briskly that it rang momentarily. "I don't _care_ about his men, Huck!" he argued. "I just want to see the bastard destroyed, and I don't care what I have to do to make that come to pass."

"Even if it kills you?"

Tom fell quiet for a moment at that, and Huck saw him draw in a deep, almost readying breath, before he came out with a quiet but resolute, "Yes." He nodded once. "Even if it kills me."

Huck frowned very slightly, but admired Tom for his dedication to his friends and his feelings. He knew the fellow American would do this for everyone he loved, and that comforted him. But it was the knowledge that Tom was ready to die at the hands of that cocky immortal – and alone – that hurt the most.

"I have to stop him, Huck. He won't expect me to come after him alone, and… maybe, with the element of surprise…" He sighed heavily. "Oh I don't know. I don't know if I can do it, Huck, I just know I have to _try_."

Huck strode away from the wall, over to face his friend. "I know you do."

"And even if I have to do it alone, I will." Tom looked Huck in the eye firmly, and he could see the blazing intent there.

"You won't be alone, Tom."

Huck and Tom turned as one, to the door, where they could see Joe, balanced on the crutches. Apparently, he had been listening behind the barricade during the whole exchange.

"Joe… don't even think about it," Tom debated with the faintest of smiles. "You can barely hold yourself up."

Joe lifted one brow, and then gave a resolute sigh, before he practically threw the crutches to the ground. With that, he walked forward without their aide, limping noticeably, but balancing nevertheless, and managing without the assistance. "You were saying?"

"Cocky," Tom quipped, at which Joe grinned.

"So," Huck began, looking between the two taller spies with a slight smile, "it's decided then?"

Tom patted Huck on the shoulder gratefully with a smile, glancing to Joe who did not waver, and in that moment, the shorter American felt more at home than he ever had.


	22. Reservations

**Author's Note:** Words cannot convey how truly, deeply, shamefully sorry I am… gah.

**Ten Mara:** Swashbuckling Tom! Heheh; swash, swash, buckle, buckle! XD Ahem… moving on…

**Marcus Lazarus:** Heheh, only a couple of chapters now, buddy. Don't worry; I'm getting there O.O At least Tom'll have Joe and Huck with him, right? That's gotta count for something… and what would Twain and Wilde make of it? Hmm… I'd love to know, actually XD

**Wind-Sorceress-Pluto:** Thanks very much, and here it is.

And now, the new part of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

"Right," Huck began pointedly, nodding to his fellow Americans, "so when do we get outta here?"

Tom was all-business at once, the sword still in one hand but pointed towards the ground. "Give me about half an hour, and we'll be on our way." After a moment of hesitation, in which he looked somewhat concerned, he looked Joe and Huck in the eyes. "Are you two sure about this? You don't have to–"

"Stop right there," Huck interrupted with a wave of his hand in Tom's direction. "We're your friends, Tom, and that's what we're here for; to help you." Smiling very slightly, he continued, "And besides, you didn't think we'd let _you_ have all the fun, did you?"

Tom chuckled quietly, accompanied by Joe, who seemed rather steady – impressively – on his wounded leg. It didn't appear to be bothering him too much. But still, if Jekyll saw him up and about, he would no doubt start on one of his lectures or something of the like, and so, before they left, he would probably hobble around on his crutches and act like an obedient patient.

"All right," Tom confirmed with a nod, looking to his two close friends and sighing lightly. "I'll meet you guys at the entrance in half an hour. You know what to bring."

"Oh yeah," Joe quipped. "Does it start with 'fire' and end with 'power', by any chance?" He grinned, his blue eyes bright with the prospect of excitement and mischief. It was like being ten years old all over again.

"Exactly," Tom agreed, stepping away from the two fellow southerners to sheath the sword. He balanced it in his hand, and considered it as it lay there. Turning his eyes to the wall as Huck and Joe deemed it time to leave the room, he ran his gaze over the equipment there, ranging from small and large holsters and scabbards. Finally, he saw what he had been looking for, and moved over to slowly claim it. He paused as he touched a hand to it, thinking things over.

Was this really the right course of action? He could very well die, and easily, at the hands of Dorian Gray, and for what?

And that was when he saw Mina's face in his mind.

Expression grim and determined, he took the equipment from the wall, and then left the room, sword still in his hand.

* * *

Shivering very slightly, she lifted her head, thinking she had heard a noise… something definite but subtle, like a fine scraping.

… There it was again.

And again.

Senses switching into hungry overdrive, her eyes flashed a vicious red, and she cast them eagerly and almost desperately around the room. There was something in here with her… and she would find it. She shifted from her place against the wall, hair dishevelled and somewhat wild, sniffing the air subtly without giving the action away. Whatever it was might be able to see her… but she could hear it; scraping and scratching. It was small… but she could feed. She cared not for the size of the creature so long as it could provide her with some much-needed nourishment.

The hunger was driving her into madness, but in her state, Mina could not tell. All she was aware of was that tiny, but definite heartbeat and the rushing of blood through the small veins.

The mouse was unaware of its predicament, scrabbling at the wall in the darkness, having lost its access to its hole, or perhaps crazy with hunger like the predator that stalked its tiny frame. It twitched its whiskers, flickered a large ear, and then turned, dazed, at the sound of the growl.

* * *

Dorian had finished his newspaper, and was now leisurely smoking a cigarette whilst working over his plans for the next twenty-four hours. He couldn't very well stay in London for the rest of his – their – days, could he? Even for all its charm and culture – if you could call it that – it was getting old to the immortal. For years, he had dwelled in this country, and for many months on end, in this city… years even, in London, could become tedious to even the longest-living of individuals.

On top of this characteristic boredom that was part of his everyday life, Dorian knew the insufferable _League_ would only waste time for so long before they stumbled onto his trail. And while he was confident he could keep them at bay, he knew he couldn't keep them _away_ forever. It was only a matter of time, and no matter how much of it he had, he didn't feel like playing cat and mouse through London for years to come.

_Annoyingly persistent_, he thought, as he tapped the ash from his cigarette into an expensive ashtray, sipping his brandy as he looked over his plans.

Paris was lovely this time of year…

Yes… tomorrow, they would leave.

* * *

Huck twirled his pistols once, this way and that over his hand, checking he hadn't gotten rusty, watching his movements very carefully before he quickly slotted them away in his holsters. Well… at least he could still show off if it got right down to it. He had loaded all chambers on the two six-shooters, and carried a good two handfuls of spare rounds in his rarely-worn waistcoat. At his belt was a small case of rifle rounds, which he then loaded and checked accordingly. The last thing he wanted was to go out unprepared with such a heavy weapon.

Lifting his boot up onto the chair at his desk, he lifted his pants' leg, and checked the dagger he kept in his ankle sheath. It was very rare that it got that desperate, but he wanted to be prepared. He had had some experience with knife-fights, and while he was more comfortable with a range weapon, he'd do what he had to.

Looking around, and then to his pocket watch, he chewed on his lip for a moment, trying to decide if he'd need anything else… other than courage and determination, neither of which he could conveniently carry in a pouch, sheath or holster.

Shrugging on one side, he realised he had everything, save for his coat and hat, which he promptly collected and donned, almost ominously; he had an odd feeling about the fight to come. He wasn't sure why, but he just had a feeling of dread twisting his stomach… quelling it wouldn't be easy, but he knew he needed to if he was to be in the right condition to fight at all. It wouldn't do to go in there distracted; accidents happened most often when people got distracted.

Picking up his rifle, he headed for the door, the comforting weight in his hands. He'd replaced his rifle as soon as he could, knowing Tom must have taken his old one. But he'd been so fond of the weapon, it seemed only fitting to replace it as soon as possible, and the government had acknowledged the need, and provided. Not that he was complaining… he felt better for having it, especially now.

So he blocked all doubt from his mind that he could manage, and tried to focus on getting himself to the exit of the Nautilus without too many people seeing him. He'd gone through years of his childhood sneaking past people and ensuring he wasn't noticed… so how hard could it be?

* * *

If he was going to be completely honest with himself, Joe wasn't sure his leg would be able to stand the journey to Royal House, as well as the potential – and quite possibly inevitable – fighting that would take place when they got there.

But he supposed he had to try. If not for his friends, then for duty… didn't he? But as he sat there, spinning the chamber of one of his pistols, he realised something. This wasn't his duty… this really had nothing to do with him at all. While he had nothing against Mina Harker personally, she was a vampire, and therefore mostly immortal… couldn't she take care of herself? And besides, if he understood it correctly, she had given herself over to this Gray character.

Nobody had really asked themselves in Mina had wanted to be with Gray in the first place, leading to her leaving and going to him. Narrowing his eyes, he snapped the chamber into the pistol, and stared down at the weapon, considering it carefully in study before laying it down on the desk. Was it really worth his getting injured again for a cause that may not even be justifiable?

He knew he shouldn't doubt Tom, but… sometimes, he just couldn't help it. He wanted to be of assistance any way he could, but charging into a battle where they would no doubt be outnumbered seemed… insane. And if Mina was staying there of her own will, then it really was a suicide mission. Joe wasn't too fond of the idea of dying for no real reason.

Of course, he doubted anybody was, but that was beside the point. The point was, he felt he had to talk to Tom about all of this, and see if there wasn't perhaps another way. He hadn't thought it through when he'd dumped his crutches down in that room… the thrill of a new adventure had spoken for him, but now that he got to looking at it from a new perspective… it didn't seem all that… sound.

Running one hand over and through his dark curly hair, his blue eyes scanned the room. It wasn't wise to simply dwell on uncertainty alone in a barely lit room… if he had doubts, shouldn't he voice them? Shouldn't he try and make his friend see sense? Sighing lightly, he supposed that was another thing he had to try, and so it was that he grabbed the crutches, and hobbled out of the room, keeping as much weight off his injured leg as possible, in case they did end up leaving. He needed as much strength in that leg as he could get, and it wouldn't do to waste it by going to see Tom.

It didn't take him long – surprisingly – to get to his friend's cabin, and he knocked on the door, hesitation gone now; his mind had been made up, and he had to see if this was really what Tom wanted. Joe couldn't let him risk his life – and Huck's… again – for something he may not even be certain about himself.

A call allowing him entry spurred him to open the door and slip inside.

"Joe… is something wrong?" Tom was seated on the end of his bed, checking and rechecking the rounds in his pistols, opening and turning the chambers before spinning the weapons when they were closed; he quickly slotted them into the holsters at his waist, and stood, moving to check his Winchester. Joe realised his presence had barely stirred a ripple, and he furrowed his brows.

"… Are you sure about this, Tom?" he said finally, and with a questioning edge to his tone as he watched his oldest friend.

Tom's light eyes turned towards Joe for a moment, narrowing briefly before he answered firmly and confidently, "Yes."

Joe sighed; he'd been afraid of that. "I mean… have you thought this over? Because if you haven't… maybe it's time you did, before someone gets hurt."

There was a flash of something unsavoury in Tom's eyes for a brief moment before he turned his gaze down to his rifle, taking it in his hand and moving back to the bed. He laid the weapon on the mattress, but did not sit. Crossing his arms, he looked to Joe, and he nodded. "I know the risks."

"Does Huck?" Joe countered. "I sure as hell don't… is Gray really an immortal? If he is, how are you gonna defeat him, Tom? Huh?"

"I'll find a way." Tom's tone was hard and meant to be final, but it didn't dissuade the other American.

"I'm sure you'll try; you always do." Joe nodded, trusting to that assessment. Tom was never the one to give up easily, without a fight, but that didn't mean he wouldn't get killed. "Tom… this is bigger than us; you know that. _I_ know it. It's ridiculous! Dorian Gray cannot die!"

"I _know_ that," Tom snapped. "I've fought alongside him before; I've seen him in action."

"So you think that makes you worthy of fighting _against_ him?" Joe challenged fiercely.

"I don't know!"

Tom and Joe stared at each other for a long time before the darker of the two sighed. "Tom… I'm only trying to look out for you." Pausing to consider his next comment, he cautiously added, "And Huck." Seeing the way Tom's eyes fixed on him, he – perhaps unwisely – supplemented, "And he's been hurt before. He nearly _died_."

Tom clearly took that the wrong way, and his eyes closed tightly as he growled out, "I won't let that happen again, dammit. That was a mistake, and I'll be _damned_ if that bastard hurts Huck…" His eyes opened, blazing with determination and anger, but as to whether that powerful emotion was aimed at their enemy or Joe, he wasn't sure. "And you _know_ that, Joe." In little more than a snarl, he added, "So don't you _dare_ suggest otherwise, or you can get the hell out…"

Joe frowned slightly, knowing he had offended his friend… it hadn't exactly been his intention, but it was out in the open now, and he nodded. "That's not what I meant, Tom. Calm down… I know you care about Huck, but…" Sighing lightly, he shifted his weight slightly, and then persisted, "Just how much do you care about him? Is it more or less than for Mrs. Harker?"

Tom's face registered disgust and disbelief for a moment as he looked to Joe once more. "How can you ask me that?" he queried. "I don't measure them against one another, Joe… I don't do things that way. I love them both, in their own ways. Huck's like a brother to me; more than Sid ever was, that's for sure. And Mina… I don't know, but I know I care about her a lot, Joe, and I thought you'd understand that."

Joe's nod was slow and exaggerated. "I'm not sure I do…" he said at last. "But the fact that you're willing to race out there, with less firepower, strength and resources is, I suppose, a testament to how much you care about her. I'm just not sure I understand why… does she care for _you_?"

"What does that matter, Joe?" Tom looked pointedly at him. "You, of all people, should know it's not defined by shared love; if you love someone, you do everything you can for them, regardless of their feelings for you. It's just the right thing to do."

Joe's temper flared at the – perhaps unintentional – barb towards him, and he averted his gaze for a moment. He knew how it would affect Becky if he and Huck had to come back here and tell her Tom had been killed… it would tear her apart.

"This is madness," he said at last, in a low, impatient voice, "you're blinded by love."

Tom smiled very faintly, looking down to the weaponry on the bed. "Not by love…" The answer was confusing to Joe; one who had just heard the blonde spy speak of affection and caring. "… By duty."

His patience and temper fraying, Joe closed his eyes and screwed up his face for a moment before blurting, "Don't you _see_? Becky _loves_ you!" He opened his eyes and stared Tom straight in the face, firmly. "Don't break her heart again, Tom."

Tom looked almost sadly back at Joe, before that ghost of a smile flittered across his features for a brief time. It had faded completely before he said in little more than a whisper, "Her heart was never mine to break, Joe…"


	23. Point of No Return

**Author's Note:** Gaaaaah! I am so, so, so – get the idea? – sorry! I really didn't intend for this to take so long, but I got **_awful_** writer's block, and the muses wouldn't work with me. You know how it goes… 'sigh'. Oh well, at least things are winding up now, at last.

**Marcus Lazarus:** And I'm afraid it's been ages again… guh; bad me. I'm very glad you liked the last chapter, and especially the points you emphasised. Thanks!

**queerquail** Thanks very much! Have another update.

**Ten Mara:** Tom may be desperate, but I don't think he's insane ;) Regarding Mina… let's all keep hoping about that, shall we? XD

**Drakena:** Considering the trousers are the only bit Jekyll keeps when he changes into Hyde, I'm sure both he and Hyde are feeling quite confused and miffed right about now… XD Thanks for the review.

**Saffra**** Crane: **No worries about not reviewing every chapter – I know how it is. And I'm very happy you like my stories. As a writer, that's _very_ comforting to hear, I'm sure you'll agree. I'm glad you could believe the emotion in the chapter… very good to hear. And nearly made you _cry_…? O.o Um… wow…

**BloodMoonLycan:** Pea soup… that's pretty damn thick, Dru-ster o.O But I'm glad you think it rocks XD Thank'ee!

**Alyssa Halliwell:** Heheh, you sure are an enthusiastic one, aren't you? And yes, they have to save Mina! You're not the only one eager for Gray and Sawyer to scrap it out… didn't realise the prospect was going to be so popular when I wrote the trailer O.o And the mailing list? Can and have, my friend XD

And now (finally) for the new part of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

In that moment, Joe thought he felt a little of his own heart break at Tom's words; so calm, but so filled with meaning and certainty. He saw in his friend's eyes that Tom did love Becky… in his own way… he loved her, and always had. It was no secret. But now… the love was not what it had once been. The two had grown apart, and though there would always be a passion between them, they would never again be what they once had. Joe was somewhat saddened by this. Becky had always loved Tom Sawyer… he was throwing that away so effortlessly, almost. But he knew Tom had something else; someone else to fight for. He had Mina Harker.

Which meant that Becky would be alone again. For some reason, Joe took no comfort in that fact, and sighed, looking Tom square in the eye as he asked, "And you're absolutely sure you still want to do this?"

Tom half-pulled the beautiful sword from its scabbard, admired the blade silently for a time, and then slotted it back firmly. "I'm more certain than I've ever been in my life, Joe." The two regarded one another seriously, and Joe felt a twinge of conflict within himself. He still doubted the success possibilities of this endeavour, but… he and Tom had been friends for _years_. He couldn't abandon him now… could he?

Sighing to himself, he took a step closer to Tom, and said definitely, "Then I'll stand by you."

Tom paused for a long time, holding the sword's length in one hand at the midway point, before he reached up and patted Joe's shoulder. "Thanks," he muttered gratefully, nodding his head. "I know you don't have to do this, Joe… so it means a lot to me."

Joe simply nodded, not sure what to say.

Tom moved past him, but as he did, he said to Joe, "And don't worry… she'll come around." He smirked. "Trust me."

Joe followed Tom with his eyes, noting how the blonde spy glanced to him only briefly, but with a knowing and reassuring smile. Joe couldn't help but smile himself after a few moments, looking away and nodding again. "Here's hoping," he murmured, before adding, "I'll be at the entrance soon."

Tom watched him leave. "Thanks again, Joe."

Joe acknowledged silently, and then made his way to his own room. He had some things to collect, after all.

* * *

Tom watched Joe leave, letting out a low breath in relief. He didn't even want to think about having to go without the third agent. Without Joe, it would have been increasingly more difficult, and Tom didn't know if he and Huck would have made it without him. And the thought of Huck getting hurt again because of him was more than unbearable; Tom didn't think he'd be able to live with the guilt of that… not again.

Shaking off the sour thoughts, Tom checked the sword again, before looking to his other weapons. They were all here; from the Winchester on the bed's length, to the sword in his hand, to the Colts at his waist in their harness. Smiling softly to himself, he realised he was going to be somewhat weighed down by the weaponry, perhaps, but when it came time to face Gray, he knew he would only be able to rely on the blade he held concealed in his right hand now. Passing it over to his left, he went about fixing it in the strap he'd found in Nemo's practise room; silent and vigilant in his task. He had no doubt Huck would be waiting down in the hold for him already, and he never had liked to keep his partner waiting.

When the strap was fixed together, Tom swung it over his back, feeling the powerful blade settled across the rear of his shoulders, and down the length. He wouldn't be able to sit or bend as well as normal, especially not backwards, but all he needed was for his friends to help him get to Gray… he would take it from there.

Donning his black jacket, he shrugged it on properly, smiling darkly to himself when he realised how well it concealed the blade… perfect; maybe he could surprise the cocky immortal yet. Already having stocked up on spare rounds for both firearms, he took his Winchester in his left hand, and his hat in his right, striding confidently and finally from his cabin. Whether or not he would ever return, he would leave to fate, but for now, he had his friends on his side, and a duty; a purpose…

For Tom Sawyer, that was more than enough.

* * *

Huck sighed and leaned back further against the wall, sticking to the shadows so he wouldn't be spotted by anyone. For the time being, the hold of the vessel was securely closed, so he had no need to worry about guards or civilians alike. All he needed to do was wait for his companions… but they sure were taking their sweet time, considering they had something of a crusade on their hands.

Joe was the next to arrive, surprisingly, and Huck revealed himself to the taller spy. Nodding his head from underneath his broad-peaked cap, he half-smiled at Joe, who returned both gestures. He had no rifle, only pistols at his waist, Huck knew. Joe had never been a heavy-arms kind of man, and so, relied on the one-handed variety. But Joe was a good shot; _damn_ good in fact, so it made little difference to the mission.

"Tom not here yet?" Joe inquired softly, as if afraid of being overheard. He wore a hat on his own head as well, half of his face subsequently cast into shadow. Huck simply shook his own head, even as they heard approaching footsteps. The two quickly ducked into the dark corner Huck had been encompassed in to begin with, waiting with bated breath for who would appear.

They were not disappointed in their hopes; Tom was the one to emerge from the doorway, stepping over the small barricade with a definite purpose in the way he moved. His sharp eyes scanned the hold, even as Huck made himself known again, with Joe right behind him. Huck smiled wanly towards Tom, who quirked a brow.

"Ready?" the blonde agent inquired with finalism in his voice. This was it; there was no backing down now. Joe nodded his consent.

Still, even as all he had been through; the pains and trials he had suffered… Huck found himself saying, "I'm ready." And he felt he had never been so confident of something before in his life as he spoke those two simple words. This felt _right_… and that was why Huck had signed on that dotted line in the first place; to do right… to help people, no matter what. It had nearly cost him his life once, and he bore the wicked scar to prove it… but he had overcome that obstacle, and this was merely another for him to tackle. And he would face it head on; with Joe and Tom… this was where he belonged.

"Let's go then," Tom confirmed, striding towards a side of the hold; the exterior hull. Joe and Huck came up behind him; one to each side, and watched as the leader of the three – there was no question about it at that moment – spun a wheel that neither had noticed before, and successfully unlocked a hatch which had previously been sealed and airtight. Tom swung it open, and looked to his companions, before hopping out of the hole. Huck poked his head out, seeing Tom land safely on the dock down below, without complication or penalty. Looking warily but questioningly to Joe, he saw the darker agent smirk, and swing himself out of the hole in such a manner that protected his damaged leg. He landed on his dominant and unwounded limb, placing the other down gently and carefully, coming up with perfect balance down below. The two looked up to Huck, who chuckled to himself. Oh, how this reminded him of his 'misspent' youth. He missed those days…

Giving a little jump, Huck sailed down the short distance, and bent his knees with the landing to cushion the impact, coming up between his two friends; shorter but the oldest, cocky and sure of himself all over again; Huckleberry Finn at his best. Tilting his hat at the right angle, he looked expectantly to Tom, who used one of the dock posts to prop himself up and swing the door closed again, or near enough to pass for shut.

The three met eyes briefly in turn, and Tom led the way down the dock's length, and away from the Nautilus; not one of them looked back, even as Huck and Joe came out to flank their friend on either side. They left the dock, entered the streets of London, and melted into the night.

The point of no return…

* * *

Becky Thatcher had busied herself with resting and reading, but there came a time when even the most 'relaxing' of tasks became menial and mind-numbing; unbearable. She had had about as much as she could take without company, and had set off to find someone – _anyone_ – to help pass the time. Until a definite course of action could be decided, she had told herself she would help by any means necessary, even if that just meant lending an ear… not that there was much of that to be done, either. Everyone seemed awkward around her all of a sudden… even Tom. No… _especially_ Tom.

_You're losing him_, a part of her whispered sadly, and she paused in the hallway, looking down slightly with pale eyes, and a furrow in her delicate brow. Could it be true? Even with all she had seen… she found it hard to believe. She didn't _want_ to believe it; she supposed that was the problem. Shaking her head with a sigh, she forced herself to persist in her search for company, and came first upon Huckleberry Finn's cabin, rapping her knuckles on the door politely to request entry.

There was no answer; nothing came of her formalities. So, quite simply, she calmly called his name… and received no response. This did not worry her… he was most probably off analysing Tom Sawyer's behaviour, as was the norm for him. Huck had become quite the observer in his maturing, and had taken it upon himself to study others; he was quite good at it too, Becky had noticed. She smiled almost proudly, and made her way towards Joe's room. Whenever she thought of Joe, she acquired an odd sensation in her stomach that refused to shift until he had completely left her mind altogether. While she was not sure what this sensation was, she knew she did not like it, and therefore tried to keep her mind from thinking of Joe Harper too much at all.

Reaching his room, she found herself repeating the process first carried out at the original door, only to garner the same outcomes. Her eyes narrowed curiously and with confusion as she looked around. Calling Joe's name one more time, she shook her head… and moved on _again_.

_This is silly_, she told herself. Either they did not want to be found, or she simply was not supposed to find them. It was as simple as that… but Becky never had been much of a quitter. Her first flirtations with Tom were proof enough of that, for sure. Her father had raised her to be a fighter, not a quitter… quitting wasn't something she took any pride in, and so, avoided whenever possible.

It took her a margin longer to reach the final cabin she had sought to investigate, and knocking hesitantly on the wooden door, she waited… and waited… and _waited_.

"What're they trying to make me wait for?" she asked herself as she knocked again, louder this time in case the occupant had been napping. "For my hair to go grey?" Shaking her head distastefully, she frowned, and called Tom's name, and then Huck's, and finally Joe's.

Nothing.

Something deep down inside of her flipped, and overturned. She felt uncomfortable… downright unsettled even, and her frown only increased, carrying right up into her eyes as she cast them up and down the corridor adjoining to Tom's cabin. There was no one in sight for some time, until a crewman came around the bend. Calling to him, she asked, "Excuse me; have you seen any of Agents Sawyer, Finn or Harper recently? In the last hour or so?"

The crewman shook his head respectfully, replying with a simple, "No, madam, I have not. My apologies."

She nodded, but as if in a daze. Setting off down the hall, she headed for the stateroom. There _had_ to be someone in there, surely. It was getting on in the evening; quite late, actually, but they were most probably still trying to line out some sort of plan to track Gray, or trap the man… or whatever he was. Becky still wasn't quite sure, and suddenly, she wasn't so sure she wanted to know. All of these mysterious goings-on had her quite perplexed and troubled, and she wasn't used to so much… strangeness. Back home in St. Petersburg, she was used to things being laid out plain and simple for her, in a natural way. There was none of this enchanted portrait business, or anything of giant underwater boats, or invisible men, or vampires either, for that matter. All of a sudden, she felt rather homesick, but pushed that aside when her feet finally carried her right to the door of the stateroom. There was very little in the way of noise from inside, but as she swung the doors inward boldly, she saw three men around the table. Jekyll had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves; Nemo was leaning over maps of London; and Skinner was turning a glass of some kind in his hands, appearing rather weary.

They all looked to Becky as she strode into the room, her heels making her presence known. Meeting their eyes in turn, she summoned her voice and asked, "Have any of you seen Tom? Or Huck or Joe?"

"No," Jekyll replied simply, shaking his fiery-haired head. "Not in some time, Miss Thatcher. Why?"

She frowned. She had heard no sound of gunshots from the room where Nemo had assured her before they could practise their marksmanship, and so, she had assured herself they were not _there_… so, short of their cabins – which she had already ruled out – and here – which was now proving to be a failure also – where could they be? Looking up to the three men, she frowned worriedly, a horrible thought settling in her mind.

"Because I can't find them…"

_They're gone… you've lost him._


	24. Only Time

**Author's Note:** I don't suppose any amount of apologising would make you all forgive me. But nevertheless, I really am sorry. Real life got a bit hectic. I quit my job, my dog was put down, I got a part in a show, and my dad went into hospital o.O And I had killer writer's block. But inspiration hit me like a brick today, and here we are. Due to rumours circulating, I will just thank all the reviewers in one go right here, and not take up the whole A/N doing it individually. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the new chapter.

And now, the new part of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

It was with instinctual care and stealth that Tom led Joe and Huck through the backstreets of London towards their destination. He had memorised how to get there, using some of Nemo's elegant maps, and they were silent as they moved, for the most part. Occasionally, there was a conference, just to confirm what they were going to do when they reached their destination, but other than that, there was nothing other than the soft tapping of their heels.

Tom, for one, could hear his own heartbeat. It was drumming in his ears, like a marching rhythm, accompanying those who would go into war against a brutal enemy. Ironically fitting, he thought, considering what he was going into; what he was leading his friends into. He glanced back at them from under the peak of his hat, almost hesitant. But no matter what he did, he knew they would follow him, and for one reason alone; they were his friends, and they wouldn't leave him to go through this alone, despite the risk.

Calculating their position using a street sign and a significant building off to his left, he estimated that it would take them roughly ten more minutes to reach their destination. It was getting close. He inhaled deeply, and let it out slowly, to collect himself.

He had seen Gray fight before; not much, but he would use that memory to help him now, in what he was about to do. It could very well get him killed, but at least he would have tried, and that was all he had to do; he had to _try_. If he didn't do that, then he would never be able to forgive himself. Mina had given herself up to protect Tom's friend; he owed her this. Of course, there was more to it than that, but he didn't need to remind himself of how he felt… how he would feel if he _didn't_ fight for her.

They stopped at a kind of crossroads, mainly to gather themselves. Huck came up beside him while Joe watched out behind them. The shorter agent's brown eyes regarded Tom's face, and after a while, the blonde man looked down, meeting the darker gaze.

"I have to do this…" he whispered unnecessarily.

"I know, Tom. And we have to be here with you."

There was a pause; Tom had a feeling Huck wasn't finished with that statement.

"If we don't go with you, you'll get yourself killed."

There it was. Tom smiled, and patted Huck's shoulder before looking around, and then back at Joe, raising his voice enough for them all to hear; "We're less than ten minutes away. It shouldn't take the _League_ long to realise we're missing. If it were just me, then maybe they wouldn't suspect as much, but with all three of us gone, and Becky to notice that, then it's not going to just be ignored."

"Right," Huck acknowledged; almost with a little smirk. That old thirst for mischief was kicking in, Tom knew; he could see it in the eyes, and he felt it in himself, even though he didn't particularly want to. It was only natural. Joe no doubt felt it as well. The three of them had gotten into so much trouble as kids that it had become almost like second nature to cause some kind of trouble… so long as nobody really got hurt. But this was different; this time, someone _had_ to get hurt.

And Tom didn't intend for it to be him.

"We should keep moving. Gray might have people out in the streets keeping watch." After seeing two acknowledging nods, Tom led them along once again, hearing them both behind him, and keeping an eye on his surroundings, watching for danger and where they should turn. It wouldn't do to get lost or ambushed. Tom was going to get to Gray, and that was final. Nothing was going to stand in his way.

* * *

Dorian had given fleeting thought to feeding her, but as he looked in on her in her starving state, he realised that it would be best to wait until they were in Paris… if only for the sheer quality. Yes, he would feed her in Paris. The blood was more rich there; more satisfying. She would like that.

Smiling in at her, he glanced down at his watch. Not long now. Everything was in order. Many of his effects were packed, and his staff were on alert; any bumbling _League_ members were to be killed on sight if they so much as tried to enter the premises. Not that they would… Dorian had not only the best taste in arts and wines and the like — women included — but also in skilled workmen. His were the finest to be bought and paid for. Highly efficient in their jobs; the best in the field. Even Hyde would have trouble getting by them, and not just because he presented a rather large target.

Chuckling, he smiled at Mina one last time, and then withdrew from the door, leaving the two guards to their vigil. Striding back to his armchair, he gazed at the lit fireplace briefly before taking a seat in the lavish room. It would be a shame to leave the furniture, but he could send for it when they were settled in Paris.

He was actually looking forward to getting back to that wonderfully extravagant city. Something about it always appealed to him; the flavour and the colours… even the people, surprisingly. They were all very endearing somehow… and if he didn't like them, then that was dealt with easily enough. Either with 'accidents' or simply ignoring them until they went away. The former was much more interesting, of course; reading about his men's creativity in the paper the next day was like opening a new book and getting caught up in its tale. And if his men ever got caught, then they had the common sense not to point the finger in his direction… they knew what that would get them.

"James, fetch me a drink, would you?"

The man acknowledged, and went to fill the simple command at once. Dorian listened to the sound of the decanter against glass, closing his dark eyes as he did so and imaging what they would do when they were in Paris.

The phrase 'paint the town red' had never held so much promise…

* * *

Skinner watched Becky pace back and forth, unintentionally listening to the sound of her heels making a kind of rhythm as she moved from one end of the room to the other, and rather briskly at that. How women could move so effortlessly in shoes like that always made his mind boggle… but now wasn't exactly the time to think about that.

"Where would they have gone?" she was asking of nobody in particular, and the three remaining men of the _League_ looked to one another in turn. Skinner glanced down at his now-rather-empty glass, and sighed.

"Well, I don't think that's much of a puzzle, really, is it?"

Becky's light eyes landed on him, and her brows knitted. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Skinner didn't really want to think that she could be dense like this when she had known Tom since they were both kids, but he let it slide. She was in a bit of a panic, so it could be expected.

"Well, if you think about it, what possible reason could Tom 'ave for runnin' off like this? And naturally the other two would follow him if what I've heard about their adventures is true. But it's Tom who'd have the reason, right? Strikes me as a kinda leader to the other two."

Jekyll lifted his eyes from where they had been focused on the tabletop, and said, "Park Lane." He looked to Skinner, who lifted his glass as a silent acknowledgement.

"He has gone after Gray," Nemo added for final clarification, making Becky move back to them all quickly, a wild look of worry in her eyes like a kind of fire.

"He wouldn't…" she started quietly, shaking her head. "He'll be _killed_."

"Quite possibly," Nemo added all too honestly, receiving a kind of glare from Skinner, who realised shortly after that it was useless to glare at a man who couldn't see the fine details of your face. "But it is not reason which drives him."

The room fell silent, but not comfortably at all, Skinner knew. Jekyll removed his pocket watch, looking down at the maps sparingly, as if trying to calculate how long it would take them to reach Park Lane and how far away the three American agents would be now. Nemo looked deep in thought as well. Becky chewed on her nails now, propping herself elegantly against the table, before she sighed, and dropped her hand to her lap, as if in resignation of some fact that only she knew. Skinner used that time to really think things over for himself, turning it this way and that, and trying to picture how this would go; how Tom would manage. Before he reached one solid conclusion. He moved to the table and put the glass down… and a little too heavily.

"He's tackling Gray by himself. Is he bloody _insane_?"

Becky's blue eyes never lifted, but when she spoke, it was with a finality that could not be argued; "No… he's in love."

Jekyll looked to the two of them, glancing to Nemo briefly in between. "Mrs. Harker."

"Yes," Becky confirmed lightly, and Skinner sat down in one of the chairs.

"This is madness. Tom's a gunslinger. What hope does he have against Gray? For one thing, the bastard's _immortal_, but on top o' that, he could get in close with that damn sword o' his."

Nemo actually sighed then, and all eyes were on him at once. It was only a few moments before he spoke, saying almost guiltily, "Agent Sawyer asked that I teach him to defend himself. He said he wanted to learn. I did have my suspicions, but I never thought to really question his intentions. He has always been honest with me."

Skinner sat up straighter, furrowing his brow. "What do you mean? You didn't teach him your martial arts, did you? He's a quick study, but that'd take him _years_, wouldn't it?"

"No, Mr. Skinner, I did not teach him my martial arts skills." Nemo's hand enveloped the grip of his ornate weapon, and Jekyll turned his back to the table, glancing to Skinner and Becky.

"A sword."

"He… learned very quickly. I was impressed, to say the least, but nevertheless, Dorian Gray has been alive for countless years; his skills are…"

"Insane?"

"In one word, yes." Nemo locked eyes with Skinner.

"But he's with Joe and Huck. He's not alone." Becky looked from one to the other, her blonde hair over her shoulders freely.

"Yeah, but he'll use 'em for cover fire with Gray's men while he goes after Gray for himself. He thinks it's personal." Under his breath, Skinner muttered, "Bloody idiot…"

Nemo stood up straight once again, resolute and ready for action. "How long have they been missing?"

"We've known for about ten minutes? But it could be longer… I hadn't seen any of them in about an hour; maybe more." Becky frowned. She was probably picturing things in her head now, Skinner presumed, even though it was probably best she didn't.

"Then we must leave immediately. If we do not hurry, then we might not make it in time." Nemo was already heading from the room to make preparations, and Skinner watched him. Jekyll was too, and Becky as well, even as the Indian added in conclusion, "I will meet you all in the hold in five minutes."

As the man withdrew from sight, Skinner muttered, "Five minutes? Well…" Louder, he added, "Best get a move on, hadn't we?"

As Skinner and Jekyll moved to leave the room, Becky stood fully and said, "Don't leave without me."

Jekyll was the first to turn; Skinner had been waiting for this actually, and should have realised she would wait until Nemo was out of the room to make her case. "But, Miss Thatcher, this is going to be extremely dang—"

"Dangerous, yes," she agreed, resolute. "But these are my friends. I've known them for years, and I can't just wait here, not knowing what's happened to them. I'm willing to take the risk, and nothing you can say will convince me otherwise, Dr. Jekyll."

Jekyll looked to Skinner as if for aid, but received nothing. Hell, Becky could probably handle a gun better than the invisible man himself… her three best friends were all spies, after all. Reluctantly, he looked back to Becky, and nodded. "Very well. But we must be quick."

"Thank you." And with that, she was gone, lifting the edges of her skirts to run from the room, back to her own cabin, to make herself ready. Jekyll's eyes turned on Skinner's face.

"You knew she was going to ask that…"

"Yes I did. There's nothin' we could've done to stop her anyway, Jekyll. You know that." Skinner shrugged one shoulder, and headed from the room.

He didn't want to be late, after all.

* * *

The three Americans stood at the corner of the street, all eyes fixed on the address they had committed to memory before even stepping foot outside of the Nautilus. Huck, being the shortest, stood just in front. Heck, he'd always sort of been the scout, not that it mattered in the darkness that enveloped them right now. The shadows pretty much swallowed them whole as they stood there, but there was enough illumination around the houses for them to see by from where they remained motionless. Tom was the first to speak.

"The roof," he whispered, and all three turned their gazes upward… seeing the man there quickly.

"Cheeky son of a bitch set up a sniper."

"Two, no doubt," Tom contradicted as he looked to Joe. "He'll have one on this side of the street too, in case the first one misses." He nodded up to the roof of the building they stood against, every move cautious and every word only loud enough for the three of them alone.

"So what do we do?" Huck inquired. "We can't very well cause a racket before we're even inside the front door… unless you wanna draw 'em out."

"No," Tom said, shaking his head. Patting Joe on the shoulder, he said to him, "Head up the back, and take out the first one. Use his gun to take out the guy on the other roof."

Nodding, Joe took off for the back, with Tom and Huck watching him. The shorter of the two looked to his 'partner' and smiled faintly. "Now did you do that because he's a good sniper himself, or to get him outta the way for a while?"

Tom chuckled lightly. "What do you think?"

"I don't think you want to _know_ what I think."

Tom grinned. "Damn straight, Huck Finn."

Huck smirked. Just like old times.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	25. Charge

**Author's Note:** Woohoo! It didn't take me months to update! Yay! Okay, I feel stupidly good about that, but I'm drawing this one to a close soon, so it's all getting rather tense xD Hope you're feeling that too… mwahahah.

And now, the new part of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

Skinner took care to close the door to his cabin behind him, letting out a deep, uneasy sigh as he did so, eyes raking around the room and landing on his decanter. He crossed to it, feeling a surge of varying emotions inside of him, like the waters of a raging river about to burst its banks. He was confused, and concerned and even _angry_, and he didn't like it one bit. And the only way Rodney Skinner knew how to destroy all of them was with alcohol… the stronger the better.

He wasn't sure whether this was scotch or whiskey, but right at that moment, he didn't care, pouring himself a sizeable measure into the glass at hand, downing more than half of it in one greedy gulp, feeling it burn its way down his throat and leave behind that familiar aftertaste.

Sawyer was a bloody idiot… a _passionate_, well-meaning idiot, but a bloody idiot all the same. He was going to get himself killed, and if they didn't rush out and save him, then… well, he wouldn't stand a chance. He knew Gray wasn't alone; he had all his men. Past contacts, no doubt, from other sordid escapades that the thief didn't even care to think about, and that was saying quite a bit. Skinner had had a hand in his fair share of distasteful endeavours, but he didn't doubt that Gray could easily take the prize. The immortal was twisted, and cunning, and more than willing to do anything to get his way. Skinner would only ever go so far.

But to think that Sawyer had gone out to rescue Mina when it was clear she had gone of her own 'free will'… it just about made Skinner want to break a good few things in sight and range. And not only that, but Sawyer had taken Harper and Finn _with_ him, endangering _their_ lives as well. Either that, or they'd refused to be left behind; at this point, Skinner would believe either. He knew Americans could be rash, but this really was the icing on the cake.

Standing there for a while with only a little of the strong alcohol still in his glass, Skinner stared vacantly at the wall, before feeling it all bubble up powerfully inside of him again.

He knew that it wasn't so much Sawyer's actions that angered him — because if he had had half the chance, he would probably have gone with them — but the fact that Gray had come back… Gray had come back and wrecked everything. Again.

With a yell, he threw the glass at the wall, vicious and with all the strength he could put behind it, watching it smash violently against the wall loudly, sending glass everywhere.

It was only after he had let out his frustration in the one action that he realised he didn't wear shoes.

"Bugger it all."

Sighing, more than a little stressed, Skinner threw on his hat and trilby, not bothering with his greasepaint since he would have to rid himself of it as soon as they got to Gray's hiding place anyway. Throwing down some cushions from his bed and chairs, he trod over them to the door, pulled it open a little more vigorously than necessary, and trotted out.

He'd clean up later.

* * *

Tom and Huck glanced up at once as they heard a muffled shot, watching the sniper in sight jerk back, and then drop to the floor completely, taking his weapon with him. A discreet, high-pitched whistle, not entirely unlike the call of a bird, attracted their attention to the rooftop of the building they hid against, and angling their attention upwards, they saw Joe leaning over with a smirk. He nodded at them, and then disappeared, signalling that the snipers were taken care of; the way was clear.

The blonde agent looked to his friend, smiling wanly but convincingly all the same; the same ten-year old boy shone through in his eyes if nowhere else. If there weren't such a real, impending threat, this would have been just like one of their childhood adventures, filled with mystery and action; nothing but a game.

But Tom knew, better than anyone, that this was not a game. The danger was very real, and more than great. Even as Joe came up just behind them, silently victorious, Tom took in a deep, readying breath. This was it. No turning back now.

Bringing an image of Mina Harker's face into his mind, he gave a nod of his own, and jogged quietly across the street, leading his two close friends behind him, their guns held in their hands readily. Pistols hung at their waists or hips, and Tom had his extra assurance, feeling the weight of it as he moved. Coming up to the door, he tried it, finding it unlocked, and swung it silently inward, ducking back, even as he heard a confused mutter from a man inside, and the subsequent footsteps of their approach.

When he emerged, Tom grabbed his lapels, slammed him against the outside wall, and then rammed the stock of his rifle into the man's face, downing him immediately. Listening for any other sounds, Tom soon gave the signal, and the three Americans carefully entered Royal House. Their senses were in overdrive, keeping an eye or ear out for any approach from the shadows or nooks the house presented. There were doorways dotted throughout the hallway that led down to what the tallest of the three assumed was a sitting room of some kind, or a reception hall, perhaps. It was hardly a low-class building, even if it did look like it had seen better days… and better tenants, certainly.

They had already overpowered at least four men by the time they got to the reception hall, having caught them as they tried to ambush from doorways or alcoves; with the three of them working together, there were no complications… at least until they entered the hall.

"Oh…" Tom mumbled, hearing the sound of several firearms cocking readily from various places. "Shit."

"I'll second that," Huck muttered, before the three dove behind the nearest cover, provided by a rather large sofa, which soon began to jerk slightly with the impacts of several bullets. The sound was deafening, overtaking everything else, and Joe winced with the resonance of it.

Tom laid his Winchester on the ground, along with his hat, which had somehow stayed in place until that point. He needed a better defence against this, and the other two blatantly agreed, laying down their own rifles and caps without hesitation, tucking them out of the way. As one, the three Americans withdrew twin pistols, the hammers drawn back, unheard by the gunmen of Dorian Gray.

"On three," Tom began after a time, having been estimating the shots fired and everything else; reloads, angles, amount of gunmen.

Three voices counted.

"One…"

Tom looked to Huck, seeing the flash of anticipation in the brown eyes.

"Two…"

Joe tensed, mimicking Tom and Huck to his side.

"Three!"

Together, the three burst from behind the sofa, letting off alternate shots from their guns, at spaced intervals and angles. All around the room, men were knocked back by the bullets, and their guns started to drop.

But it was far from over. Tom was confident, but he wasn't naïve. This wasn't all Gray had to throw at them…

* * *

Lifting his head gracefully from the book he had been reading, Dorian listened. Even without enhanced senses, he could hear those deafening cracks and bangs; gunfire. And a lot of it. But it was dwindling; thinning out and lessening, as if his men were being… overpowered.

_The _League_…_

Dorian could come to no other conclusion, and really, he was far from surprised. After all, he had taken their lady; the _only_ lady of the _League_ in fact, smiling at the thought. He had had no doubt that they would try and come for her. But if they thought that the gunmen in the hall were the only defences he had, then they were in for a big surprise…

* * *

With his second automobile still under construction, Captain Nemo had had to settle for hailing a 'cab' from near the docks, the remains of the _League_ scrambling into it, along with Miss Thatcher, before they were off for Royal House, and as fast as the horse could go, or so the Indian hoped. The driver had certainly been paid enough to drive the carriage as fast as it could possibly be transported, so Nemo hoped there was no delay.

Who knew what state of distress their American friend — or rather, _friends _— had gotten himself into by now? For all they knew, he was lying near death, or already dead.

_Or perhaps_, Nemo thought to himself, _we are giving him entirely too little credit._

It was possible that Tom Sawyer had more chance than they thought, and he was far from needing their help as desperately as they assumed. For all they knew, he had _defeated_ the immortal villain.

But then, Nemo had come to understand, in his many years, that things were _never_ that easy.

* * *

Even when it seemed the gunmen had been defeated, and that the three Americans were in the clear, Huck heard a sound from the shadows… a sound he recognised.

"Get down!" he yelled at Tom and Joe, even as a weapon lifted from out of the darkness, aimed towards the three intruders, who all immediately dove for respective cover. Joe jumped and rolled to land behind another of the grand, dusty sofas, and Tom leapt behind one of the pillars the gunmen had used to hide from them initially. Huck had barely a second to react, and did the only thing he could think of; he dove for a large table, hooking a hand at its edge as he rolled across its surface, unbalancing it as he went over, taking it with him. It was at that moment that rapid streams of gunfire exploded across the roof, tearing into any surface in sight, just as Huck landed, the table rocking slightly, but remaining in place as a makeshift shelter for the shorter agent. He let out a sigh of relief, and looked wildly to his companions, who seemed safe — for the time being — behind their respective furnishings.

But now they were stuck. The rapid gunfire from the other side of the room made it impossible to spring up as before, and Huck found his eyes scanning the surroundings… before he realised his proximity to the original hiding place they had used upon entry. The rifles!

Glancing hurriedly to Tom as a signal, he holstered his pistols, and held in a breath. He barely gave himself time to rethink it before lunging across the distance, rolling behind the sofa with amazement at the fact that he hadn't even been grazed. Eyes slightly wide in relieved shock, he took up his rifle, and began to scoot for the edge of the large chair, keeping himself stealthy and low to the ground. Reaching his position, he lay on his front, cocking back the hammer on his rifle and peering around the edge. Either the gunmen had missed his lunge, or thought him not enough of a threat.

_Their mistake_.

Smirking just slightly at one corner of his mouth, he readied his weapon, levelling it along his arms as he lay against the dusty floor, one eye closing as he aimed. Concentrating to the full, he lined up his shot just right… and then pulled the trigger.

A loud scream of pain came from the darkness, and the gunman fell forward, dropping his weapon and clutching at his shattered kneecap, which oozed blood freely. Huck waited for any other gunfire to take up its place, before rising cautiously, mimicked soon after by Joe and Tom.

Tom and Huck met each other's gaze, and the latter grinned, shrugging.

"How about you go save your lady, huh?" he prompted, keeping an eye out for any other threats, even as Joe tensed slightly. They wouldn't be alone for long, and this was Tom's only window of opportunity. The blonde agent came over in a jog, taking his rifle up from the floor quickly, before stopping at Huck's side. Laying a hand on his friend's shoulder, he gazed briefly but gratefully to Joe, before saying, "Thank you. Both of you." Patting Huck's shoulder supportively, he added, "Be careful."

"You too." Nodding his head off to the side, he said, "Go get 'im."

With that, Huck and Joe watched Tom Sawyer run out of the room, taking a door — the only door — to the side of the hall, and disappearing through it. It was up to them to keep the way clear, and to hold back any aide from getting to Dorian Gray.

Footsteps echoed from upper corridors, and the two remaining agents took up their positions again. Huck squared his shoulders, suddenly feeling taller than he really was.

"Here they come…"

**_To Be Continued…_**


	26. Death's Wake

**Author's Note:** Well, this may come as no surprise, but hey, it took me a long time to update… huh XD Anyway, this is where it starts to pick up for you guys, I hope. Here's hopin' you like it :) One line of this — he knows which one — can be credited to **Marcus Lazarus**; he inspired its inclusion some time ago.

Any and all readers who had my name on their MSN contact list, please delete/block it. I can no longer be reached via MSN, sadly. Contact me freely through any of Yahoo Messenger, AIM or email. Thanks.

And now, the new part of **_Ghosts of Old…_**

* * *

In the darkness, head bowed over with messy auburn hair tumbling around a crinkled skirt and scuffed boots, Mina Harker breathed heavily. Around her feet, blood was dotted, but over in the corner, a mouse poked miserably out of its hole, petrified but instinctively curious. Was the horrible monster really gone? Or was it all a façade to lure the animal into a false sense of security?

Mina whimpered quietly, feeling where the cuts on her arms and hands had healed. She had tried to attack and kill the mouse, but something had stopped her. She hadn't been able to do it. Some ridiculous need to stop and leave the rodent had hit her, and instead she had flung herself away, finding her nails clawing at her own flesh, as if she could feed in this self-damaging manner.

Which, of course, was a foolish notion. A vampire could not feed on its own blood… even a _half_-vampire such as Wilhelmina Harker.

Her sense of hearing had become muffled; she could hear very little outside of the room in which she had been imprisoned, tortured and cornered by her own hunger.

Driven mad by her own nature…

* * *

The cab trundled along, apparently as fast as the horses could go, with the _League_ and their one 'passenger' inside, proverbially biting at their own nails and glancing impatiently out the windows to see if their destination was yet in sight. Each time, they were disappointed, and many times, their cockney thief leaned out of the window precariously to call hasty encouragement to their driver… who apparently didn't see the point in reckless urgency.

Never in his long years spent in London, rooting around in its many dark corners and alleys, had Skinner seen a driver so apparently concerned with his horses' well-being. Most of the cab drivers would sooner whip their animals into an early grave rather than unsettle or anger any customers they might gain. A new horse could easily be purchased in the markets; customers of good stature and wealth were hard to come by in his day and age, with many people of standing hiring private services. Drivers were out to impress, not just exercise an animal they could easily and heartlessly cast aside and replace in the space of a weekend with a good bargain and keen, practised haggling.

"Bloody idiot," he grumbled, pulling himself back in the window and dropping into his seat beside Jekyll. "You'd think he'd never been in a rush in his life."

"We told him it was urgent," the doctor reminded them, as if this would solve everything.

"Clearly," Nemo argued calmly, but with an underlying sense of irritation, "he paid very little attention to our desires."

In her seat beside the captain, Becky Thatcher fidgeted, and looked out of the window with concerned blue eyes, biting at her bottom lip in a fretting manner. Skinner watched her, toyed with his trilby, and then sighed loudly, slouching into his seat while Jekyll drummed his fingers on the seat of the cab's interior.

_Bloody cab drivers…_

* * *

Heart racing in his chest, Tom carefully wandered the seemingly never-ending corridor, pockets of light provided by ominous lamps turned down low. They cast long shadows over his face, his breathing the only sound to accompany his quiet footsteps. He had been working himself up to this moment so much since Mina had been taken, that now it was upon him, he doubted his skill… he doubted his own ability to overcome an _immortal_, as any man would. How could he defeat an immortal?

_I'm an idiot._

And then he saw it. Up ahead, like a beacon, was a slither of light; a telltale doorway, with its barricade open just slightly as if to beckon him forward teasingly… almost cruelly. Tom hesitated, swallowing the sudden dryness in his throat. Hands clutched at the rifle he still held without reason — he had to reload, and the weapon could bring no harm to Dorian Gray as it was — and with so much force that the barrel creaked; his knuckles whitened.

_Get a grip…_

Tom Sawyer knew, that if he didn't move in that moment, he would never go through with it. If he didn't command his feet to carry him forward, they would only take him back.

Setting his jaw grimly, and lifting his chin as if it would help, he stepped forward… hesitantly and slowly at first, but with increasing 'confidence' and determination. By the time he reached the door itself, his heart was pounding like a drum.

* * *

Brown eyes turned to the origin of the creak, and a smirk broke out across the timeless, flawless features of Dorian Gray. He watched the figure enter, and couldn't hold back his own laughter.

"I was expecting the ape," he taunted, seeing the cold hatred in Sawyer's eyes. It was a sharp contrast to the innocent hair and light eyes normally filled with infuriating inquisitiveness and mischief. "Instead," he continued in an icy tone, turning his body to face this apparent challenger, "they send the _ant_."

Tom Sawyer's features hardened. Anger flashed in his eyes at the insult, and Dorian only smiled; a wide, smug expression. How did this child hope to overcome the task set before him?

"Let her go…" Sawyer practically growled, a clear command if ever the immortal had heard one. It didn't sit well with him, and only tested his nerves.

One immaculate brow rose. "That sounded like an order," he murmured in a calculative manner. After letting a brief silence hover between them, he replied properly, "I will do nothing of the sort." Smiling once again, like a predator who had already cornered and crippled his prey, he persisted, "You may recall her handing herself over to me willingly." His smirk became wicked, and increasingly arrogant. "She is _mine_."

"No she is _not_," Sawyer snarled in retaliation, and Dorian watched the boy's chest rise and fall with increasing fervour. He was succeeding in grating on the child's nerves… an early and hasty attack would seal his fate. "She doesn't belong to you."

"And so you are here to save her?" Dorian laughed; a loud and mocking sound that echoed around the vast parlour. "You poor, deluded child…"

Sawyer's jaw was set so firmly, the immortal thought he would hear a crack any minute. He looked to the rifle in the American's hands. "Your silly guns can do me no harm, _Agent_ Sawyer." He said the title derisively. "You already know that much. Why waste your time?"

To his — hidden — surprise, Sawyer, without glancing to his 'prized' rifle, tossed it aside. It clattered loudly in the otherwise silent room, the noise of a grand clock the only other disturbance. Everything fell still.

"Hmm," Dorian murmured curiously. He had to admit, the child had him intrigued now, if not a little disappointed and sympathetic. It would be too easy to cut the boy down. "So what now…?"

* * *

"Now?" Tom repeated in a low, disgusted tone as he looked upon the features of a man who had caused so much evil and pain. "Now, I kill you."

A long, heavy silence filled the room, with only the spy's heavy, deep breathing to fill it. It was almost choking, the quiet… it closed in around him, as if threatening to cut off his air and corner him.

When Dorian Gray spoke, it was almost impatiently that he did so. His words were clipped, and precise, with the same arrogance and superiority that had always been there, from the moment they had met; they had clashed instantly, Tom remembered. His eyes bore into the American, but he did not waver; he remained firm, standing his ground.

"You fool… I am impervious to harm." His hand gripped tighter around the pommel of his cane, fingers wrapping specifically around the silver grip of what was really a sword in an immaculate scabbard in disguise.

Expression quietly confident, he lifted a hand. It was with a subtle degree of satisfaction that he saw the immortal tense just the tiniest fraction; almost unperceivable. Reaching to the very top of his back with his right hand, he wrapped his palm around the solid, reassuring grip that had been hidden from Gray's view since the spy had stepped into the room. He was fairly certain the immortal wouldn't have anticipated what would happen next.

In one clean, definite motion, he pulled the sword free from its scabbard, the slightest whisper of steel against its case the only sound in the room, before it caught the light, being brought down in front of Tom's body. Its razor edge glinted in the lamplight, catching across his defiant, determined features. His other hand closed around the grip below the first, for extra support of the weight; extra balance.

Dorian Gray lifted one eyebrow, eyes dropping from Tom's face to the sword, and back up again.

Slowly but surely, Tom's mouth turned up at one corner into his trademark smirk.

A sneer swept over Gray's face for just a flicker of an instant, and he lifted his nose higher into the air, arrogance radiating from him like a bad smell.

The room descended into a long, unbearable silence once more, weighing down on the two men in the room, one with weapon drawn and the other seconds away from mirroring his opponent. Even Tom's breathing had levelled out, as if simply drawing the sword had given him that extra boost of confidence he had needed. Everything was still, as if frozen in time…

And then, quite as suddenly as it had fallen, it was shattered. As if on some unspoken cue, the two charged. A clear ringing of metal announced the whipping out of Dorian's cane-sword, and as he closed the distance on the immortal, Tom swung the sword back and round. Quite without intending to do so, the immortal mimicked, but his motions were more graceful and artistic; like a deadly dancer's.

The force with which the two swords collided was enough to send a very real tremor through the American's body, making him grit his teeth in resolve as the two blades sang against one another, each driven by a very different but seemingly equal strength. Dorian Gray's face was a mask of disgust; Tom Sawyer's one of fortitude and hatred.

Hearing the awful, grating scrape of one blade against the other, Tom felt Gray's sword push down… getting closer. It may have been a narrower weapon, but it was by no means weaker. The expertise of the wielder didn't hurt its precision either.

Growling as he moved, a low and almost guttural sound of determination, Tom risked his balance in order to swing up one solid boot, slamming it into one of Dorian Gray's thighs. The force of the kick flung the immortal back. With a ringing sound, the blades disconnected, and Tom regained his balance, breathing heavy once more as his heart thundered behind his ribcage.

Eyes fixing on his opponent, seeing the rage and disbelief wash over the perfect features, he waited, and calculated. Still holding the sword in two hands, he rocked it to his right; his dominant side. Waiting only until the immortal had collected himself and focused his anger, Tom moved again, knowing he had only hesitated for some foolish, ingrained sense of chivalry and honour. If he truly intended to finish Gray, he knew he had to silence those traits, if only for the duration of the fight.

Swinging the sword around and towards the immortal's shoulder, he yelled, cursing inwardly when the other man's weapon leapt nimbly in to intercept, clanging against his larger blade. It ricocheted, but he quickly persisted, arching it up and across toward the other fighter's midsection. Again, Gray blocked, and with exasperating ease and elegance. Risking a glance at Gray's face only made his frustration worse.

The immortal looked _bored_.

And Tom let that fuel his actions.

He turned his entire body to give the next swing of the sword extra power, aiming right for Dorian Gray's smug head.

Gray bent his entire torso over easily, having no need to use his sword to deflect, which left it open for a return strike.

Tom Sawyer felt the stinging bite of the blade in his side, and gave a yelp, stumbling back and balancing the weight of the sword in his right hand. His left went to his body, above his hip, coming away from the rip in his clothing red at the fingers.

Dorian had landed the first strike; drawn the first blood.

"I really do pity you," he sighed, admiring the slightly stained edge of his blade as if it were nothing new to him. "All this effort, and for nothing." His eyes turned fully on Tom, and he read the silent taunt with ease; 'I'm toying with you'…

Grimacing irately, he ignored the discomfort, and squared his shoulders again, taking hold of the weapon with both hands again. He balanced his body weight quickly, and the two circled one another. Tom held the sword low, ready to cleave it through the air at a moment's notice, recalling all of Nemo's tips and lessons in the centre of his mind, where he could easily access them; he saved the very forefront of his attention and focus for the battle at hand. He needed to be alert if he was going to avoid anything worse than a gash in his side.

* * *

They rushed at each other once more.

Dorian quickly went into a flurry of motion, if only curious to test Sawyer's movement, balance and ability to carry the blade. He would have been impressed if he believed it was truly possible to be impressed by anything the American could do. He knew instantly where the young man had learned the tricks; Captain Nemo was quite the dab-hand with a blade himself.

But what the Indian had no doubt spent decades perfecting, along with Dorian himself, the American had rushed into a few days' practise and routine. His movements weren't precise or automatic. He could see in the youthful eyes that he was focusing all too much on what to do next with the blade and he turned and twisted it, having to shift his body to keep upright from the force of the immortal's strikes and parries as well as keep himself from hitting any of the furniture.

If only to add insult to the injury, Dorian delivered a sharp thrust at Sawyer's shoulder, which the American awkwardly twisted to block, before the immortal quickly recovered and struck at him again. Using the flat of his blade for extra power, he successfully shoved Sawyer back, taking sadistic, somewhat-childish satisfaction in how the agent stumbled over a low table he hadn't worked around.

Dorian chuckled mockingly, shaking his head as Sawyer gathered himself back to his feet. No amount of training could mask the bruising his pride had just taken, and the immortal was all too amused by that; he could see it in the eyes. He had spent countless years learning exactly how to read eyes… they could give away the tiniest things, but were usually the best way to judge an opponent.

Tucking his left arm behind his back for poise and practicality as Sawyer rushed at him again, they went into another rapid exchange of thrusts and blocks. Sawyer wasn't parrying nearly enough; if he would only strive to use a block as a carry-through into a blow, he might actually have half a chance.

Not that he would walk out of this room again, Dorian knew. There was no way the boy could defeat him, and it was actually rather pitiful that the American couldn't see that for himself.

Or perhaps he could, and he was simply a glutton for punishment.

* * *

"Do you think that _League_ of Tom's are really not coming?" Huck called to Joe over the sound of gunfire tearing into their cover behind the sturdy, overturned table.

"They'd be here by now!" Joe replied briskly, grimacing at the deafening crack of bullets slamming into the wood with so much force that it shook their hiding place like an earthquake.

"Well, they didn't know we were comin'," the shorter agent argued, gripping his rifle as if it would solve all his problems, the foremost of which happened to be the assaulting gunmen raining down on them through their projectiles. "Maybe it's just takin' 'em a while."

Joe turned light, wide eyes on his companion; his impromptu partner. "Huck," he called over the noise, "they're not comin'."

Huck frowned, more irritated by Joe's apparent pessimism than the notion of the _League of Extraordinary Gentlemen_ not showing. He listened for any breaks in the firing, counting as many rounds as he could, before he realised he would have to — once again — throw caution to the wind. Swinging his body up and around, he let off three rapid shots at the gunmen, hearing rather than seeing two bullets drive their targets down and out of action. The third merely clipped the intended man, but didn't take him out of the running. Huck ducked back behind their cover just seconds before it was riddled with gunfire. He dropped lower to the ground as the very edge of the table was torn away by the bullets, showering him with splinters and fragments. He cursed under his breath, glancing to a very stern-looking Joe.

_They're comin'… they have to be_.

* * *

Wincing, Tom staggered back, panting in as much of a controlled manner as he could manage, eyes turned fiercely on Dorian Gray as the man paced predatorily back and forth in front of his unexpected challenger. His shoulders ached from the swinging of the sword, and his ribs burned with the exertion. He felt overheated beneath his duster, and his holsters felt too heavy at his sides. His left Colt kept catching on the gash Gray had rewarded him, causing him to grimace in discomfort and only provide the immortal with a reason to smile.

Knowing he couldn't show any signs of weakness or submission — not that he could really suppress most of the physical signs — he pulled himself together again, and surged forward anew, aiming a stab at Gray's chest. Gray turned his body, pivoting it like a cap on a bottle, and granted Tom with a solid crack against the back of his skull with the pommel of his sword. He gasped, stumbling forward and almost dropping his weapon, lifting his hand to check he wasn't bleeding. It throbbed something fierce, but a second, brisk check with his fingertips reassured him; Gray hadn't broken the skin. He had just taunted again, as if he saw no real point in the fight at all, but simply sought entertainment at Tom's expense.

Newly irritated by the blow, Tom gave his head a swift shake to clear any lingering grogginess from the strike, before lashing out again. The blades tolled against one another painfully, causing the American's ears to ring with each new collision, and he could feel Gray applying just that little bit more pressure behind each hit.

Strike after strike after strike, Tom gritted his teeth, trying to get the advantage, before he felt the back of Gray's free hand across his face with blinding force. It threw him to the side, and turned him enough for the immortal to slash his blade across the spy's back, drawing a yell out of him. Tom's knees wavered, and he fell halfway to the floor, using one hand to keep himself from collapse as the hot ache rushed across his injured back. He could feel the blood trickle from the wound, and he winced heavily, setting his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut as he gathered himself, before he could rise again.

Behind him, Gray paced, waiting and watching for his prey to get to his feet. Tom knew why he wasn't dead already… Gray was playing with him.

And if he played his cards right, Tom could use that to his advantage.

Taking a deep breath that carried only the slightest of shakes, he forced himself to his feet, grimacing at the burning, stinging sensation in his back. He rolled his shoulders experimentally, and let out the breath slowly. He met Gray's dark, cunning gaze, and waited.

Before too long, the immortal came forward. Tom waited still, even as Gray closed the distance, coming closer and closer with each passing heartbeat. His mind seemed to clear, and Nemo's teachings washed to the front of his brain; clear and crisp… perfectly vivid and within his reach.

Just as Gray swung at the American, the younger man ducked down, and twisted; any pain from his slashed back and gashed side was ignored as, with perfect clarity and decisiveness, he swung up, and cleaved the sword around. Honour and chivalry be damned; Gray had his back turned, having not yet twisted to intercept.

There was a sickening crunch and brief squelch that filled the air, before something sailed to the floor. Even as Tom recovered from the force of his swing, he turned his eyes, and saw the head hit the ground. Panting deeply, he glanced to the body, which slumped to its knees against a pristine sofa, cane-sword dropping from partly-relaxed fingers.

Eyes falling once again to the head, he stared, as if in disbelief. Had he done it?

Was Gray dead…?

_**To Be Continued…**_


End file.
